Homily 52 — Acts 25, verse 23, to 26, verse 29

“The next day, when Agrippa had come, and Bernice, with great pomp, and had entered the audience hall with the commanders and the leading men of the city, at Festus’ command Paul was brought in.” [a]

See what an audience has gathered for Paul! The governor has come with all his guards, and the king, and the commanders, “with the leading men,” it says, “of the city.” Then, when Paul is brought in, see how he is proclaimed the winner. Festus himself clears him of the charges. For what does Festus say? “And Festus said, King Agrippa, and all you men who are present here with us, you see this man, about whom the whole crowd of the Jews have pleaded with me, both at Jerusalem and here, shouting that he ought not to live any longer. But when I found that he had done nothing deserving death, and since he himself has appealed to Augustus, I have decided to send him. I have nothing definite to write to my lord about him. So I have brought him out before you, and especially before you, King Agrippa, so that after he has been examined I may have something to write. For it seems to me unreasonable to send a prisoner and not also to state the charges against him” (verses 24 to 27).

Notice how he accuses them while he acquits him. Oh, what an abundance of vindications! After all these repeated examinations, the governor cannot find a way to condemn him. They said he deserved death. That is why he also said, “When I found,” he says, “that he had done nothing deserving death… I have nothing definite to write to my lord about him.” This too is proof of Paul’s spotless innocence: the judge found nothing to say about him. “So I have brought him out,” he says, “before you. For it seems to me unreasonable to send a prisoner and not also to state the charge against him.” Such were the tight corners into which the Jews had driven themselves and their rulers!

What then? “Agrippa said to Paul, You are permitted to speak for yourself” (Acts 26, verse 1). The king gives him leave to speak because he wants very much to hear him. But Paul at once speaks out boldly. He does not flatter; he calls himself fortunate for this reason: because Agrippa knew everything.

“Then Paul stretched out his hand and made his defense: I count myself fortunate, King Agrippa, because I am to make my defense today before you concerning all the things of which I am accused by the Jews, especially because I know you to be expert in all the questions that are among the Jews. So I beg you to hear me patiently” (verses 2 and 3).

And yet, if he had been conscious of guilt, he would have been afraid of being tried before a man who knew all the facts. But this is the mark of a clear conscience: not to shrink from a judge who knows the circumstances precisely, but even to rejoice at it and call oneself fortunate. “I beg you,” he says, “to hear me patiently.” Since he is going to lengthen his speech and say something about himself, he puts a request first, and then says: “My way of life from my youth, which was spent from the beginning among my own nation at Jerusalem, all the Jews know. They knew me from the start, if they were willing to testify, that according to the strictest sect of our religion I lived as a Pharisee” (verses 4 and 5). How, then, could I have become a stirrer-up of rebellion, I whom everyone spoke for like this when I was young? Then too he argues from his sect:

“according to the strictest sect,” he says, “of our religion I lived.”

“What of it, if the sect deserves admiration but you yourself are wicked?” On this point too I call everyone to witness — on my life and conduct. “And now I stand here on trial for the hope of the promise made by God to our fathers, the promise which our twelve tribes, earnestly serving God night and day, hope to attain. For the sake of this hope, King Agrippa, I am accused by the Jews. Why should it be thought incredible by you that God should raise the dead?” (verses 6 to 8).

He lays down two arguments for the resurrection. One is the argument from the prophets — and he does not bring forward any particular prophet, but the teaching itself as the Jews hold it. The other, and the stronger, is the argument from the facts — above all, that Christ himself spoke with him. And he lays the groundwork for this with other arguments, telling precisely about his former madness. Then too, speaking highly of the Jews, he says, “Serving night and day,” he says, “they hope to attain.” So that even if I had not lived a blameless life, it is not for this teaching that I ought to be put on trial: “for which hope, King Agrippa, I am accused by the Jews.” And then another argument: “Why should it be thought incredible by you that God should raise the dead?” For if such a belief had not existed — if they had not been brought up in these teachings, and they were now being introduced for the first time — perhaps someone might not have accepted the saying.

Then he tells how he persecuted; this too helps the proof. He brings forward the chief priests as witnesses, and the “foreign cities,” and the fact that he heard Christ say to him, “It is hard for you to kick against the goads.” He shows the mercy of God: that though he was being persecuted, he appeared, and did that kindness not to me only, but also sent me as a teacher to others. He shows too the prophecy, now fulfilled, which he heard at that time: “Rescuing you from the people and from the Gentiles, to whom I am sending you.” Showing all this, he says: “I myself was convinced that I ought to do many things against the name of Jesus of Nazareth. And that is what I did in Jerusalem. I shut up many of the saints in prison, having received authority from the chief priests, and when they were put to death I cast my vote against them. And I punished them often in every synagogue and compelled them to blaspheme; and raging against them beyond measure, I persecuted them even to foreign cities. While I was on my way to Damascus on this business, with authority and commission from the chief priests, at midday, O king, I saw on the road a light from heaven, brighter than the sun, shining around me and those who were traveling with me.

And when we had all fallen to the ground, I heard a voice speaking to me and saying in the Hebrew language, Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me? It is hard for you to kick against the goads. And I said, Who are you, Lord? And he said, I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. But get up and stand on your feet, for I have appeared to you for this purpose: to appoint you a servant and a witness both of the things you have seen and of the things in which I will appear to you, rescuing you from the people and from the Gentiles, to whom I am now sending you, to open their eyes, and to turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God, so that they may receive forgiveness of sins” (verses 9 to 18). [b]

Notice how gently he speaks. God, he says, said this to me: “so that they may receive forgiveness of sins, and an inheritance among those who are made holy by faith in me.” By these things, he says, I was persuaded; by this vision he drew me to himself, and persuaded me so thoroughly that I made no delay. “So, King Agrippa, I was not disobedient to the heavenly vision, but declared first to those in Damascus, and at Jerusalem, and throughout all the region of Judea, and then to the Gentiles, that they should repent and turn to God, and do works worthy of repentance” (verses 19 and 20). I, then, who taught others about the most excellent way of life — how could I myself have become the author of rebellion and strife? “For these reasons the Jews seized me in the temple and tried to kill me. So, having obtained help from God, I continue to this day, testifying to both small and great, saying nothing except what the prophets and Moses said would come” (verses 21 and 22).

See how free of flattery his speech is, and how he credits the whole thing to God. Then his boldness — not even now do I stop. And the firm ground he stands on — for it is from the prophets that I raise the question, “whether the Christ was to suffer.” Then the resurrection and the promise: “whether he, as the first to rise from the dead, would proclaim light to the people and to the Gentiles” (verse 23). Festus saw his boldness, and what does he say? Paul had been addressing himself all along to the king, and Festus was somewhat annoyed, and says to him, “You are out of your mind, Paul.” For “as he was saying these things in his defense, Festus said with a loud voice, Paul, you are out of your mind; your great learning is driving you mad” (verse 24). What, then, does Paul say? Gently: “I am not mad,” he says, “most noble Festus, but I am speaking words of truth and good sense” (verse 25).

Then too he lets him understand why he turned away from him and addressed his speech to the king: “For the king knows about these things, and to him I speak freely. For I am convinced that none of these things is hidden from him, for this was not done in a corner” (verse 26). He shows that the king knows everything perfectly, and at the same time he is all but saying to the Jews, “And you too ought to have known these things” — for that is the meaning of what he adds: “For this was not done in a corner.” “And Agrippa said to Paul, In a little you are persuading me to become a Christian.” What does “in a little” mean? “Within a little.” “And Paul said, I would pray to God, whether in a little or in much” — that is, “I would pray to God,” for my part, not “in a little”

but “in much.” He does not simply pray; he prays not briefly but largely: “that not only you, but also all who hear me today, might become such as I am.” Then he adds, “except for these chains.” And yet the chains were a matter of glory. True, but he was looking to their notion of them; that is why he says, “except for these chains” (verses 27 to 29). [c]

“The next day,” and so on (verse 23). The Jews had given up from the moment Paul used his right of appeal. And then the theater becomes a splendid one for him too: they were present “with great pomp.” “And Festus said,” and so on. “The whole crowd of the Jews” — not some of them only, with others thinking differently — “both at Jerusalem and here,” said “that he ought not to live any longer” (verse 24). “And when I found,” and so on.

This shows that he was right to appeal to Caesar. For if, though they had nothing serious to allege against him, the Jews at Jerusalem were still raging against him, he has good reason to go to Caesar. “So that after he has been examined by you,” he says, “I may have something to write.”

Notice how the matter is put to the test again and again. The Jews, then, have themselves to thank for this vindication of Paul, which would reach the ears of the people at Rome too. See how they become, against their will, heralds both of their own wickedness and of Paul’s virtue, even to the emperor himself. So Paul was taken to Rome with more renown than if he had gone there without chains. For it was not as an impostor and a deceiver that he was now being taken there, after so many judges had acquitted him. Cleared of every charge among the very people with whom he was brought up and born — and not only that, but free from all suspicion — he makes his appearance at Rome. [d]

“Then Paul,” and so on (Acts 26, verses 1 to 3). He did not say, “Why this? I have appealed to Caesar once and for all. I have been tried many times. When will there be an end to this?” What did he do instead? Once again he is ready to give an account, and that before the man best informed on the subject, and with great boldness, since they were not his judges and could not condemn him. Yet even though they were not his judges, since that declaration, “To Caesar you shall go,” stood in force, he gives an account and makes a full defense “concerning all the things” — not merely one point here and another there. They accuse me of rebellion, they accuse me of heresy, they accuse me of profaning the temple: “concerning all these things I make my defense.” And that these things do not fit my ways, my accusers themselves are witnesses: “My way of life from my youth,” and so on (verse 4). This is what he said on an earlier occasion: “being zealous” (Acts 22, verse 3).

And when the whole people was present, he appeals to their testimony — not before the court, but before Lysias — and again here, where more people were present. Whereas at that earlier hearing he had no need of much defense, since Lysias’ letter had cleared him. “All the Jews know,” he says, “who knew me from the beginning.” He does not say what kind of life he led, but leaves that to their own conscience, and lays the whole weight on his sect, since he would not have chosen that sect if he had been a man of wicked disposition and bad character. “But for this hope,” he says, “I stand here on trial” (verses 6 and 7). This hope is honored among the Jews themselves too. For it they pray, for it they worship, that they may attain it. This same hope is what I proclaim.

So it is the act of madmen to do everything for the sake of attaining this, and yet to persecute the man who believes the same thing. “I myself thought,” that is, I determined, “that I ought to do many things against the name of Jesus of Nazareth” (verse 9). I was not one of Christ’s disciples; I was among those who fought against him. That is why he is a witness who deserves to be believed: a man who was doing countless things — making war on the believers, persuading them to blaspheme, stirring up everyone against them, cities and rulers, doing all this by himself and of his own accord — was suddenly changed like this. Then again there are the witnesses, those who were with him. Next he shows what good reason he had to be persuaded: from the light, from the prophets, from the results, and from the things that have now happened.

See, then, how he confirms the proof to them both from the prophets and from these details. For so that he would not seem to be bringing in some novelty, even though he had great things to say, he takes refuge again in the prophets and puts this forward as a question for discussion. Now this had the stronger claim to belief, since it had actually happened; but since he alone had seen Christ, he again draws the proof of it from the prophets.

And see how he does not speak the same way in the court and in the assembly of his own people. There he says, “You killed him”; but here nothing of the kind, so as not to inflame their anger further. Yet he shows the same thing by saying, “whether the Christ was to suffer.” In this way he frees them from accusation: the prophets, he says, say this; so accept the rest as well. Having mentioned the vision, he then goes on without fear to speak also of the good it brought about. “To turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God. For I have appeared to you for this purpose” (verses 16 to 18) — not to punish you, but to make you an apostle. He shows the evils that possess unbelievers — “Satan, darkness” — and the good things that belong to believers: light, God, “the inheritance of the saints.” [f]

“So, King Agrippa,” and so on (verses 19 and 20). He not only urges them to repent, but also to show a life worthy of admiration. And see how everywhere the Gentiles are brought into fellowship with the people of Israel; for those who were present were Gentiles. “Testifying,” he says, “to both great and small” (verse 22) — that is, to both the distinguished and the undistinguished. This is said for the soldiers too.

Notice: he has left the place of the accused and taken up that of the teacher — which is also why Festus says to him, “You are out of your mind.” But then, so that he would not seem to be the teacher himself, he brings in the prophets and Moses: “whether the Christ was to suffer, whether he, as the first to rise from the dead, would proclaim light both to the people and to the Gentiles” (verse 23). “And Festus said with a loud voice” — so angry and displeased was he — “Paul, you are out of your mind.” [g]

What, then, did Paul say? “I am not mad,” and so on. “For this,” he says, “was not done in a corner” (verses 25 and 26). Here he is speaking of the cross and of the resurrection, and saying that the teaching had reached every part of the world. “King Agrippa,” he says, “do you believe” — he does not say “the resurrection,” but — “the prophets?” (verse 27). Then he answers for him in advance and says, “I know that you believe.” “In a little” — that is, within a little — “you are persuading me to become a Christian” (verse 28). Paul did not understand what the phrase “in a little” meant. He thought it meant “from a little” — that is, with little cost or trouble — and that is why he answers to that. So unlearned was he! And he did not say, “I do not want that,” but, “I pray that not only you, but also all who hear me…” Notice how free of flattery his speech is. “I pray that today they may all become such as I am, except for these chains” (verse 29).

He, the man who glories in his chains, who displays them like a golden chain, prays against them for these men. For they were still too weak in mind, and it was rather by stooping down to meet them that he spoke this way. For what could be better than those chains, which in his letters he always puts ahead of everything else, saying, “Paul, a prisoner of Jesus Christ” (Ephesians 3, verse 1), and again, “For this reason I am bound with this chain” (Acts 28, verse 20), “but the word of God is not bound,” and, “even to chains, as a criminal” (Second Timothy 2, verse 9)? The punishment was twofold. If he had been bound as though for his own good, the thing would have carried some comfort with it. But as it was, he was bound both “as a criminal” and with a view to very bad things to come. Yet he cared for none of these things.

Such is a soul given wings by heavenly love. Those who cherish the foul love — the earthly passion people call love — think nothing glorious or precious except the things that serve to satisfy their craving; those alone they think glorious and honorable, and their mistress is everything to them. How much more do those who have been taken captive by this heavenly love think nothing of the cost! But if we do not understand what I am saying, that is no wonder, since we have no experience of this divine wisdom. [j]

For if anyone is caught by the fire of love for Christ, he becomes like a man who lived alone on the earth, so completely indifferent is he to glory or disgrace. Just as, if he lived alone, he would care for nothing, so it is with him in this case. As for trials — beatings and imprisonments — he despises them as if the body in which he suffers them belonged to someone else and not to him, or as if he had a body made of diamond. As for the sweet things of this life, he laughs them to scorn, and he is as insensible to them as we would be to dead bodies if we were dead ourselves. He is as far from being taken captive by any passion as gold refined in the fire and purified is free of impurity. For just as flies would not dart into the middle of a flame but fly away from it, so the passions do not even dare to come near this man.

I wish I could bring forward examples of all this from among ourselves; but since we have none, we must turn to this same Paul. See, then, how he felt toward the whole world. “The world has been crucified to me,” he says, “and I to the world” (Galatians 6, verse 14): I am dead to the world, and the world is dead to me. And again: “It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me” (Galatians 2, verse 20). And to show you that he looked on the things of this present life as though he were in solitude, hear him say, “While we look not at the things that are seen, but at the things that are not seen” (Second Corinthians 4, verse 18). What are you saying? Answer me. And yet what you say is the very opposite: you see the invisible things, and the visible ones you do not see! [k]

The eyes you had are the kind of eyes Christ gives. For just as these bodily eyes see the things that are seen but do not see the unseen, so those eyes do the opposite: no one who beholds the invisible things beholds the visible, and no one who beholds the visible beholds the invisible. Or is this not the case with us too? When we turn our mind inward and think about any of the unseen things, our view is raised above the things of earth.

Let us despise glory. Let us be willing to be laughed at rather than praised. For the man who is laughed at is not harmed at all, but the man who is praised is harmed a great deal. Let us not think much of the things that frighten people, but let us do here what we do with children. If we see someone frightening children, we do not admire that man, since whoever frightens only frightens children; if it were a grown man, he could not frighten him. Those who frighten children in play do it by pulling up their eyelids or by otherwise twisting their faces; with the eye looking naturally and gently, they could not do it. In the same way these others do it by twisting the eye of their mind. So nobody would be afraid of a gentle man, beautiful in soul; on the contrary, we all respect him, honor him, and revere him. Do you not see how the man who causes terror is also hated and loathed by us all? For of the things that can do nothing but frighten, which do we not turn away from? Is it not so with wild beasts, with sounds, with sights, with places, with the air — darkness, for instance? So let us not think it a great thing if people fear us. In the first place, no one is really frightened of us; and in the second, it would be no great thing if they were.

Virtue is a great good — and see how great. However wretched we may think the things in which it has its being, we still admire virtue itself and call those who have it blessed. For who would not call the patient sufferer blessed, even though poverty and things like it seem wretched? When, then, it shines out through things that seem wretched, see how surpassingly great it is!

Do you think much of yourself, my friend, because you are in power? And what kind of power? Tell me, was it conferred by appointment? Then you have received power from men. Appoint yourself to it from within. For the ruler is not the one who is called that, but the one who really is. Just as a king could not make a physician or an orator, so neither can he make a ruler; it is not the imperial letters or the title that makes a ruler. Suppose, if you like, that a man sets up a doctor’s shop, takes on pupils, has instruments and drugs too, and visits the sick: are these things enough to make him a physician? By no means. There is need of skill; without it, not only do these things do no good, they actually do harm. For it would be better for a man who is not a physician not even to own medicines.

The man who does not have them neither saves nor destroys; but the man who has them destroys, if he does not know how to use them. For the healing power lies not only in the nature of the medicines but also in the skill of the one applying them; where that is missing, everything is spoiled. Such is the ruler too. For instruments he has his voice, his anger, executioners, banishments, honors, gifts, and praises. For medicines he has the law; for patients, people; for a place to practice, the court of justice; for pupils, the soldiers. If, then, he does not know the art of healing, none of these things does him any good. The judge is a physician of souls, not of bodies; and if the art of healing bodies needs so much care, much more does the art of healing the soul, since the soul matters more than the body. [l]

So merely having the title of ruler does not make someone a ruler. Others too are called by great names — Paul, Peter, James, and John — but the names do not make them what they are called, just as my own name does not make me what John was. I bear the same name as that blessed man, but I am not the same thing: I share his name, not what he was. I am not John; I am only called John. In the same way these men are not rulers; they are only called rulers. But those others are rulers even without these trappings, just as a physician, even if he is not actually practicing his art, is still a physician if he has it in his soul.

Those are rulers who rule over themselves. For there are these four things — soul, household, city, world — and they advance step by step in regular order. The man who is to manage a household and set it in good order must first bring his own soul into order, for that is his household. But if he cannot set in order this household of his own, where there is only one soul, where he himself is master, where he is always in his own company, how will he order others? The man who can regulate his own soul, and make the one part rule and the other be subject, will be able to regulate a household too. The man who can do this for a household can do it for a city also; and if for a city, then for the world too. But if he cannot do it for his own soul, how will he be able to do it for the world?

I have said these things so that we will not get excited about positions of rule, and so that we may know what ruling is. For what goes by that name is not ruling but a mere laughingstock, plain slavery, and many other names one could call it. Tell me, what belongs to a ruler? Is it not to help his subjects and do them good? What, then, if that is not happening? How will he help others who has not helped himself? How will a man who has countless tyrannies of the passions in his own soul root out those of others?

Again, as for “luxury,” or delightful living: true luxury, true delight, is not what goes by that name, but something else altogether. Just as we have shown that the ruler is not the one called by that name but another, so the person who truly lives in delight is a different sort of person from the one we describe that way. Luxury, or delightful living, seems to be enjoying pleasure and gratifying the belly. Yet it is not that, but the opposite: it is having a soul worthy of admiration and being in a state of pleasure. For suppose a man is eating, drinking, and living loosely, and then suffers worries and low spirits: can this man be said to be living in delight? So it is not eating and drinking, but being in a state of pleasure, that makes true luxury, true delightful living. Suppose a man has nothing but dry bread, and is filled with gladness: is this not pleasure? Well then, it is the true luxury.

Let us see, then, to whom this falls — to the rich, or to those who are not rich? Not wholly to the one side or to the other, but to those who so order their own souls that they do not have many causes for grief. And where is such a life to be found? For I see all of you eager and wanting to hear what this life is that has no sorrows. [m]

Well then, first let this be admitted by you: that this is pleasure, this the true luxury — to have no grief troubling you. And do not ask me for food and wine and sauces and silk robes and a lavish table. But if I show that such a life is within our reach apart from all these things, then welcome this pleasure and this life. For most of the painful things that happen to us come from our not reckoning things as we ought. Who, then, will have the most sorrows — the one who cares for none of these things, or the one who cares for them? The one who fears reversals of fortune, or the one who does not? The one who dreads jealousy, envy, false accusations, plots, and ruin, or the one who stands clear of these fears? The one who wants many things, or the one who wants nothing? The one who is a slave to countless masters, or the one who is a slave to none? The one who needs many things, or the one who is free? The one who has one Lord to fear, or the one who fears countless despots? Well then, the greater pleasure is here.

So let us pursue this, and not get excited about the things of this present life. Let us laugh to scorn all the pomp of life, and in everything think modestly of ourselves, so that we may be able to pass through this life without pain and attain the good things promised, by the grace and mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom, to the Father and the Holy Spirit together, be glory, power, and honor, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.