Homily 54 — Acts 28, verses 2 to 16

“And the barbarians showed us no small kindness; for they lit a fire and welcomed every one of us, because of the rain that had set in, and because of the cold. And when Paul had gathered a bundle of sticks and laid them on the fire, a viper came out because of the heat and fastened on his hand.” [a]

“They showed us,” he says, “no small kindness” — barbarians though they were — “having lit a fire.” Otherwise it would have been no use to them that their lives were saved, if the wintry weather was going to kill them. Then Paul took some brushwood and laid it on the fire. See how active he is! Notice how we never find him working miracles for the sake of working them, but only when there is need. During the storm, too, when there was a reason, he prophesied — not for the sake of prophesying. And here again, the first thing he does is lay brushwood on the fire: nothing for empty display, but simply so that they might be kept alive and get some warmth.

Then a viper “fastened on his hand. And when the barbarians saw the poisonous creature hanging from his hand, they said among themselves, No doubt this man is a murderer; though he has escaped the sea, vengeance does not let him live” (verse 4). It was well that this too was permitted — that they should both see the thing and speak out what they thought — so that when the outcome came, there could be no disbelieving the miracle. Notice their good feeling toward people in distress: they say this not aloud, but among themselves. Notice also the natural sense of right, plainly expressed even among barbarians, and how they do not condemn without giving a reason. And these people see it too, so that they may marvel all the more.

“But he shook the creature off into the fire and suffered no harm. They were waiting for him to swell up or suddenly fall down dead; but after they had waited a long time and saw no harm come to him, they changed their minds and said that he was a god” (verses 5 and 6). They expected him, it says, to fall down dead; and then, seeing that nothing of the kind happened to him, they said, “He is a god.” Here again (as in Acts 14, verse 11) these people go to the other extreme.

“In that region there was an estate belonging to the chief man of the island, whose name was Publius. He welcomed us and gave us kind hospitality for three days. And it happened that the father of Publius lay sick with fever and dysentery. Paul went in to him, prayed, laid his hands on him, and healed him” (verses 7 and 8). Look, here is another hospitable man, Publius, who was both rich and the owner of great estates. He had seen nothing, yet purely out of compassion for their misfortune he took them in and cared for them. So he deserved to receive kindness; that is why Paul, in return for his taking them in, “healed him. When this had happened, the others on the island who had diseases also came and were healed. They also honored us with many honors, and when we set sail, they loaded us with everything we needed” (verses 9 and 10) — both us and the rest.

See how, once they were rid of the storm, they did not grow more careless; and see what generous hospitality was given them for Paul’s sake. For three months they stayed there, all of them supplied with food. See how all this is done for Paul’s sake, so that the prisoners might believe, and the soldiers, and the centurion. Even if they had been made of stone, they must have formed a very high opinion of him — from the advice they heard him give, from the prediction they had heard him make, from the miracles they knew he had worked, and from the food they enjoyed through him. See how, when the judgment is sound and not taken over beforehand by some passion, it at once judges rightly and gives sound verdicts.

“After three months we set sail in a ship of Alexandria that had wintered at the island, whose emblem was Castor and Pollux. We put in at Syracuse and stayed there three days. From there we sailed round and came to Rhegium; and after one day a south wind sprang up, and the next day we came to Puteoli. There we found brothers, and were invited to stay with them seven days; and so we went on toward Rome. And from there, when the brothers heard about us, they came as far as the Forum of Appius and the Three Taverns to meet us. When Paul saw them, he thanked God and took courage” (verses 11 to 15).

Already the preaching has reached Sicily! See how it has run its course even to those lands. At Puteoli, too, they found some believers, and others also came to meet them. Such was the eagerness of the brothers: it did not unsettle them at all that Paul was in chains. But notice also how Paul himself was affected as any human being would be. For it says, “when he saw the brothers, he took courage.” Though he had worked so many miracles, even so he gained fresh confidence just from the sight of them. From this we learn that he was comforted as people are, and also felt the opposite, as people do.

“And when we came to Rome, Paul was allowed to live by himself, with the soldier who guarded him” (verse 16). He was given leave to live by himself. This too is no slight proof that he was held in great admiration: clearly they did not count him with the rest. “And it happened that after three days he called together the leading men of the Jews.” After three days he called together the leaders of the Jews, so that their ears might not be filled with prejudice beforehand. And what did he have to do with them? For otherwise they were not likely to accuse him. Still, that was not what he cared about. His concern was for the teaching, that what he had to say might not give them offense.

“And the barbarians,” and the rest (verse 2). The Jews, then, who had seen all the many miracles worked, persecuted and harassed Paul; but the barbarians, who had seen none, were kind to him merely because of his misfortune. “No doubt,” they say, “this man is a murderer” (verse 4). They do not simply pronounce their judgment; they say, “No doubt,” that is, as anyone can see. “And vengeance,” they say, “does not let him live.” [g]

Why, then, they too held the teaching of a providence! These barbarians were far more philosophical than the philosophers, who do not allow the benefit of providence to reach the things “below the moon.” These barbarians, on the contrary, suppose that God is present everywhere, and that although a guilty man may escape many dangers, he will not escape in the end. And they do not attack him at once, but for a while they respect him because of his misfortune. Nor do they announce their suspicion openly, but they speak it “among themselves”: “a murderer” — for the chains led them to suspect this.

“They showed no small kindness” — and yet some of them were prisoners. Let those people be ashamed who say, “Do not do good to those in prison.” Let these barbarians put us to shame. They did not know who these men were; simply because they were in misfortune, they were kind. This much they saw: that they were human beings. And so they judged that these men had a claim on their kindness. “And for a long time,” it says, “they expected that he would die” (verse 6). But when he shook his hand and flung the creature off, then they saw it and were astonished. And the miracle did not come all at once; the people let a length of time go by — “after they had waited a long time.” So plain was it that there was no trick here, and nothing done in haste.

“Publius,” it says, “gave them kind hospitality” (verse 7) — two hundred and seventy-six people. Think how much he gained by his hospitality! Not as though under compulsion, not unwillingly, but counting it gain, he lodged them for three days. And afterward, having received his reward, he naturally honored Paul much more, when the others too were healed. “They also,” it says, “honored us with many honors” (verse 10). Not that Paul took wages — far from it! — but as it is written, “The worker deserves his food” (Matthew 10, verse 10). “And when we set sail, they loaded us with everything we needed.” [j]

It is plain that when they took them in this way, they also received the word of the preaching. For we cannot suppose that for three whole months they would have been shown all this kindness unless these people had believed firmly and were showing in this the fruits of their conversion. So from this we may see a strong proof of how great the number of believers was. This alone was enough to establish Paul’s credit with his fellow voyagers. Notice how on this whole voyage they never put in at a city, but were cast up on an island, and spent the entire winter either there or at sea. In this his fellow voyagers, I mean, were being trained for faith.

“After three months we set sail in a ship of Alexandria that had wintered at the island, whose emblem was Castor and Pollux” (verse 11). Probably this was painted on it — so devoted were they to their idols. “And when a south wind sprang up, the next day we came to Puteoli. There we found brothers, and were invited to stay with them seven days; and so we went on toward Rome” (verses 13 and 14). Notice them staying a while, and then hurrying on again. “And from there, when the brothers heard about us, they came as far as the Forum of Appius and the Three Taverns to meet us” (verse 15) — not fearing the danger.

So Paul was now so greatly respected that he was even allowed to be by himself; for if even before this they had treated him kindly, much more would they now. “He was allowed,” it says, “to live by himself, with the soldier who guarded him” (verse 16). This was so that no plot could be laid against him there either — for now there could be no stirring up of a riot. So in fact they were not holding Paul prisoner, but guarding him, so that nothing unpleasant should happen to him. For now, in so great a city, with the emperor there, and with Paul’s appeal lodged, nothing could be done against due order. So true is it that through the very things that seem to be against us, everything always turns out for us. “With the soldier” — for he was Paul’s guard.

“And having called together the leading men of the Jews” (verse 17), he speaks to them. They go away disputing, and he reproaches them, and yet they dare not say anything; for they were not permitted to deal with his case as they pleased.

For this is a wonderful thing: that it is not by the things that seem to make for our safety, but by their very opposites, that everything comes to work for us. So that you may learn this: Pharaoh commanded that the infants be thrown into the river (Exodus 1, verse 22). If the infants had not been thrown out, Moses would not have been saved; he would not have been brought up in the palace. When he was safe, he was not in honor; when he was cast out, then he was in honor. But God did this to show his wealth of resources and his skill in contriving. The Jew threatened him, saying, “Do you mean to kill me?” (Exodus 2, verse 14), and this too worked to his profit. It came about by God’s providence, so that he might see that vision in the desert, so that the appointed time might be fulfilled, so that he might learn philosophy in the desert and live there in safety.

And in all the plots of the Jews against him the same thing happens: he only becomes more illustrious. So it was with Aaron too. They rose up against him, and by that very act made him more illustrious (Numbers 16, verse 17), so that his ordination would be beyond question, and so that from then on he would be held in admiration because of the bronze plates as well. Of course you know the story, so I pass over telling it.

And if you like, let us go over examples of the same thing from the beginning. Cain killed his brother, but in doing so he rather did him good. For hear what Scripture says: “The voice of your brother’s blood cries out to me” (Genesis 4, verse 10); and again in another place, “to the blood that speaks better things than that of Abel” (Hebrews 12, verse 24). He freed him from the uncertainty of the future; he increased his reward; through this we have all learned how much God loved him. For how was he harmed? Not in the least, by reaching his end sooner. Tell me, what do those who die more slowly gain? Nothing. For having good days does not depend on living many years or few, but on using life properly. The three young men were thrown into the furnace, and through this they became more illustrious; Daniel was thrown into the pit, and from there he was made more renowned (Daniel 3 and 6).

You see that trials in every case bring great good even in this life, and much more in the life to come. As for malice, it is just as if a man holding a reed set out to fight a fire: the reed seems to beat the fire down, but it only makes it brighter and burns itself up. For the malice of the wicked becomes food for virtue and an occasion of its splendor; since God turns the wrongdoing to good account, our character shines out all the more. Again, when the devil does anything of this kind, he makes those who endure it more illustrious.

But you will say: “How, then, was this not so with Adam? On the contrary, he was disgraced all the more.” No: in this case above all others, God turned the malice of that wicked one to good account. If Adam was the worse for it, it was he who injured himself. For it is the wrongs done to us by others that become the means of great good to us, not the wrongs we do ourselves. Indeed, since the fact is that when others hurt us we grieve, but not when we hurt ourselves, God shows that the one who suffers unjustly at another’s hands wins renown, while the one who injures himself suffers harm — so that we may bear the first courageously, but not the second.

And besides, the whole thing there was Adam’s own doing. Why did you do the woman’s bidding (Genesis 3, verse 6)? When she advised you against God, why did you not drive her off? You yourself were certainly the cause. Otherwise, if the devil was the cause, then by that reckoning all who are tempted ought to perish. But if not all perish, the cause of our destruction lies with ourselves. “But then by that reckoning,” you will say, “all who are tempted ought to come through well.” No, for the cause is in ourselves.

“Then by that reckoning some ought to perish without the devil having anything to do with it.” Yes, and in fact many do perish without the devil being involved. Surely the devil does not bring about all our wrongdoing; no, much comes from our own laziness alone. And if he is anywhere involved as a cause, it is because we offer him the opening. Tell me, why did the devil prevail in the case of Judas? “Because ‘Satan entered into him’ (John 13, verse 27).” Yes, but hear the cause: it was because “he was a thief, and carried what was put in the bag” (John 12, verse 6). It was he himself who gave the devil wide room to enter into him. So it is not the devil who plants the beginning in us; it is we who receive him and invite him in. [o]

“But if there were no devil, the evils would not have grown so great.” True; but then our punishment would admit no plea for mercy. As it is, beloved, our punishment is milder; whereas if we had done the evils of ourselves, the punishments would be unbearable. Tell me, if Adam had committed the sin he did without anyone advising him, who would have snatched him out of the dangers? “But he would not have sinned.” What right have you to say this? A man who had so little steadiness, who was so sluggish and so ready for folly as to accept advice like that, would much more have become what he became without anyone advising him. What devil stirred up Joseph’s brothers to envy? If, then, we are watchful, brothers and sisters, the devil even becomes for us a cause of renown. So how was Job the worse for falling into such helpless distress? “Don’t speak of that case. Job was not the worse; but the weak person is the worse.” Yes, and the weak person is the worse even if there is no devil. “But more so when the devil’s power is working along with him.” True; but he is punished less when he has sinned with the devil working along with him, for the punishments are not the same for all sins. Let us not deceive ourselves: if we are watchful, the devil is not the cause of our coming to harm. Rather, what he does is wake us out of our sleep; what he does is keep us on the alert.

Let us look into these things for a while. Suppose there were no wild beasts, no unseasonable weather, no sicknesses, no pains, no sorrows, nothing else of the kind: what would man not have become? A pig rather than a man, reveling in gluttony and drunkenness and troubled by none of these things. But as it is, cares and anxieties are an exercise and a discipline of philosophy, a method for the best kind of training. Tell me: let a man be brought up in a palace, with no pain, no care, no anxiety, never having cause for anger and never failing; whatever he sets his mind on, let him do it and succeed in it, and let him have everyone obeying him. See whether such a man would not become more irrational than any wild beast. But as it is, our reverses and our afflictions are like a whetstone that sharpens us. That is why the poor are for the most part wiser than the rich: they are driven about and tossed by many waves.

So too a body that lies idle and without movement is sickly and unsightly, while one that is exercised and goes through labor and hardship is better looking and healthier; and we would find the same holds for the soul. Iron, too, left unused, is ruined, but when it is worked it shines brightly; and so does a soul that is kept in motion. Now these reverses are exactly what keep the soul in motion. The arts, too, die out when the soul is not active; and it is active when it does not have everything plain before it. It is made active by adverse things. If there were no adverse things, there would be nothing to stir it. So if everything existed ready-made and beautifully finished, art would have found nothing to exercise itself on. In the same way, if all things lay level with our understanding, the soul would find nothing to exert itself on; and if it had to be carried about everywhere, it would be an unsightly thing.

Don’t you see that we urge nurses not to make a practice of always carrying children, so that they do not get them into the habit and make them helpless? This is why children who are brought up under their parents’ eyes are weak: the indulgence that spares them too much harms their health. Pain in moderation is a good thing; care is a good thing; want is a good thing; for they make us strong. Their opposites are good too. But each of these in excess destroys us: the one slackens us, and the other, by straining us too far, snaps us.

Don’t you see that Christ also trains his own disciples this way? If they needed these things, much more do we. But if we need them, let us not grieve, but even rejoice in our afflictions. For these are remedies suited to our wounds, some of them bitter, others mild; but either kind by itself would be useless. Let us therefore give thanks to God for all these things, for he does not let them happen at random, but for the good of our souls. So, showing our gratitude, let us give him thanks, let us glorify him, let us bear up courageously, remembering that it is only for a time, and stretching our minds forward to the things to come, so that we may both bear the present things lightly and be counted worthy to attain the good things to come, through the grace and mercy of his only Son, with whom, to the Father and the Holy Spirit together, be glory, might, and honor, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.