Homily 2 — Romans 1, verses 8 to 17

“First, I thank my God through Jesus Christ for you all, that your faith is spoken of throughout the whole world.” [a]

Here is an opening worthy of this blessed spirit, one able to teach everyone to offer God the first fruits of their good deeds and words, and to give thanks not only for their own good deeds but for other people’s as well. This keeps the soul pure of envy and grudging, and draws God in greater measure toward the loving spirit of those who give thanks this way. That is why he says elsewhere too, “Blessed be God and the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with all spiritual blessing” (Ephesians 1, verse 3).

It is right for us to give thanks not only when we are rich but also when we are poor, not only in health but also in sickness, not only when we are thriving but also when we have to bear the opposite. When our affairs are carried along by a fair wind, being thankful is nothing to wonder at. But when great storms are upon us, and the ship is swinging about and in danger, that is the great moment to show endurance and goodness of heart. This is how Job won his crown. He stopped the devil’s shameless mouth, and showed clearly that even when he saw good days, it was not because of his wealth that he was thankful, but because of his great love for God.

And see, too, what Paul is thankful for: not for earthly and perishing things, such as power and authority and glory (for these are of no account), but for real blessings — faith and boldness of speech. And with how much feeling he gives thanks! He does not say “to God,” but “to my God,” as the prophets also do, making what is common to all their own. And what is surprising in the prophets doing so? God himself plainly does it constantly with his servants, calling himself the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, as belonging to them in a special way.

“That your faith is spoken of throughout the whole world.” What, then — had the whole world heard of the faith of the Romans? Yes, the whole world, according to him. And it is not unlikely. The city was not an obscure one; it stood, as it were, on a height, and was conspicuous in every way. But consider, I ask you, the power of the preaching: how in a short time, through tax collectors and fishermen, it took hold of the very head of all cities, and Syrians became the teachers and guides of Romans.

He bears witness, then, to two excellent things in them: that they believed, and that they believed with boldness — a boldness so great that their fame reached the whole world. “For your faith,” he says, “is spoken of throughout the whole world.” Your faith — not your debates in words, nor your questionings, nor your syllogisms. And yet there were many hindrances to the teaching there. Having recently won the empire of the world, the Romans were puffed up, and lived in riches and luxury. It was fishermen who brought the preaching there, and they were Jews and of Jewish stock, a nation hated and loathed by everyone; and the Romans were told to worship the Crucified, who had been brought up in Judea. Along with the teaching, the teachers proclaimed a strict way of life to men practiced in softness and anxiously caught up in the things of the present. And those who proclaimed it were poor and common men, of no family, born of men of no family. But none of these things hindered the course of the word. So great was the power of the Crucified that it carried the word around everywhere.

“For it is spoken of,” he says, “in all the world.” He does not say “it is made known,” but “it is spoken of,” as though everyone had them on their lips. And indeed, when he bears witness to the same thing about the Thessalonians, he adds something more. After saying, “From you the word of God has sounded out,” he adds, “so that we need not say anything” (First Thessalonians 1, verse 8). For the disciples had stepped into the place of teachers, instructing everyone by their boldness of speech and drawing them to themselves. The preaching did not come to a stop anywhere, but swept over the whole world faster than fire.

But here there is only this much: “it is spoken of.” He does well to say “it is spoken of,” showing that there was no need to add anything to what was said, or to take anything away. For this is a messenger’s business: to carry from one person to another only what he has been told. That is also why the priest is called a “messenger” (Malachi 2, verse 7): because he speaks not his own words but the words of the one who sent him. And yet it was Peter who had preached there. But Paul counts what was Peter’s as his own as well — so far, as I said before, was he beyond all measure free of any grudging!

Verse 9: “For God is my witness, whom I serve with my spirit in the good news of his Son.” [f]

These are words from an apostle’s tender heart; this is a father’s care on display! What is he saying, and why does he call God to witness? He had to declare his feeling toward them. Since he had never yet seen them, he called no human being to witness, but him who enters into hearts. He was saying, “I love you,” and as proof of it he pointed to his praying for them continually and his wish to come to them; and since this was not self-evident, he turns to the testimony that can be trusted.

Now, will any of you be able to boast that when he prays at home he remembers the whole body of the church? I do not think so. But Paul drew near to God on behalf not of one city only but of the whole world, and not once, or twice, or three times, but continually. Carrying someone about constantly in one’s memory could not happen without great love; so think what great affection and friendship it means to have people in one’s prayers, and to have them there continually.

When he says, “whom I serve with my spirit in the good news of his Son,” he shows us at once the grace of God and his own humility: the grace of God, because God entrusted so great a thing to him; his own humility, because he credits it all not to his own zeal but to the help of the Spirit. The added words “in the good news” show what kind of service this is. For there are many different ways of serving. Under kings, everyone is ranked beneath the one who holds royal power, yet not all serve in the same task: to one belongs the service of commanding armies, to another that of governing cities, to another again that of guarding the treasure in the storehouses. So it is in spiritual things too. One person serves God and labors for him by believing and ordering his own life well; another by taking on the care of strangers; another by taking up the part of patron to those in need. Even in the apostles’ own time, Stephen and those with him served God by looking after the widows, and others by teaching the word. Paul was one of these, serving in the preaching of the good news.

This was the form his service took, for this was what he had been appointed to. That is why he not only calls God to witness but also says what had been entrusted to him: to show that, with such great things put into his hands, he would never have called the one who entrusted them to him to witness to a falsehood. With this he also wanted to make another point: that he could not help having this love and care for them. So that they would not say, “Who are you, and where do you come from, that you say you are anxious over so great a city, the imperial city?” he shows that he was bound to have this care, since the service committed to him was to proclaim the good news. For anyone who has had this put into his hands must continually keep in mind those who are to receive the word.

He shows something else besides by saying “with my spirit”: that this service is far higher than either the pagan or the Jewish. The pagan service is both fleshly and in error; the Jewish is true, but it too is fleshly. The service of the church is the opposite of the pagan, and loftier than the Jewish by a great deal. For our way of serving is not with sheep and oxen and smoke and fat, but with a spiritual soul. Christ shows this too when he says, “God is a Spirit, and those who worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth” (John 4, verse 24).

“In the good news of his Son.” Having said above that it was the Father’s good news, here he says it is the Son’s. So little does it matter whether one says the Father’s or the Son’s! For he had learned from that blessed voice that the things of the Father are the Son’s, and the things of the Son are the Father’s: “All mine are yours, and yours are mine” (John 17, verse 10). [i]

“That without ceasing I make mention of you always in my prayers.” This is the mark of genuine love. He seems to be saying just one thing, yet even here he states four: that he remembers them, that he does so continually, that it is in his prayers, and that it is to ask great things for them.

Verse 10: “Asking that somehow, now at last, I may have a prosperous journey by the will of God, to come to you.”

You see him longing painfully to see them, and yet not willing to see them against what seemed good to God; his longing is mixed with the fear of God. He loved them and was eager to come to them. Yet, loving them as he did, he did not want to see them against what seemed good to God. This is true love — not the way we love, who stray from love’s laws on both sides. Either we love no one, or, if we ever do love, we love against what seems good to God; and either way we act against the divine law. And if these things are hard to hear, they are harder still when done. You will say: “And how do we love against what seems good to God?” When we neglect Christ wasting away with hunger, and provide for our children and friends and relatives beyond what they need. But why carry the subject further? Anyone who examines his own conscience will find this happening in many things.

But that blessed man was not like this. He knew both how to love and how to love as he ought, as was fitting; and though he surpassed everyone in loving, he did not overstep the measure of love. See, then, two things flourishing to the full in him: the fear of God, and his longing for the Romans. To keep praying continually, and not to give up when he did not obtain what he asked, shows exceeding love. But to keep yielding to the will of God in this way while loving shows intense reverence.

In another place, though, when he had “begged the Lord three times” (Second Corinthians 12, verse 8), not only did he not receive what he asked; when he did not receive it, he was very thankful for not having been heard. So in everything he looked to God. Here he did receive, though not when he asked, but after a delay; and even here he was not discontented. I mention these things so that we will not complain at not being heard, or at being heard slowly. For we are not better than Paul, who gives thanks for both, and with good reason. Once he had given himself up to the Hand that governs all, and placed himself under it as completely as clay under the potter, he followed wherever God led. Having said, then, that he desired to see them, he also gave the reason for his desire. And what is it?

Verse 11: “That I may impart to you some spiritual gift, so that you may be established.” [l]

He was not traveling as many travel nowadays, needlessly and to no profit, but for necessary and very urgent ends. And he does not tell them his meaning openly, but in hints. He does not say, “that I may teach you, that I may instruct you, that I may fill up what is lacking,” but “that I may impart,” showing that he is not giving them things of his own, but sharing with them what he had received. And here again he is modest. In saying “some,” he means: a small gift, and one suited to my powers.

And what may this small thing be that you are now going to impart? “This,” he says: “so that you may be established.” This too, then, comes from grace: being unwavering and standing firm. But when you hear of grace, do not think that the reward for our own resolve is thereby thrown aside. He speaks of grace not to belittle the labor of our own resolve, but to puncture the haughtiness of an arrogant spirit. So do not grow slack because Paul has called this a gift of grace. In his great fairness he knows how to call even good deeds graces, because even in these we need much help from above.

But in saying “so that you may be established,” he quietly shows that they needed a good deal of correction. What he means is this: “For a long time I have both desired and prayed to see you, for no other reason than to establish, strengthen and settle you thoroughly in the word of God, so that you will not keep wavering.” But he does not put it that way, for he would have shocked them. He hints the same thing to them another way, though in a subdued tone; for when he says, “so that you may be established,” he makes this plain. Then, since this too was very galling, see how he softens it in what follows. So that they would not say, “Are we wavering, then, and carried about? Do we need words from you in order to stand firm?” he anticipates them and removes any objection of that kind by saying what comes next.

Verse 12: “That is, that I may be comforted together with you by the mutual faith both of you and me.” [m]

It is as if he said: “Do not suspect that I spoke to accuse you. That was not the feeling with which I said it. What, then, did I mean? You are going through much distress, drenched on every side by those who persecute you. So I desired to see you in order to comfort you — or rather, not only to comfort you, but to receive comfort myself.”

See the teacher’s wisdom. He had said, “so that you may be strengthened,” and he knew that what he had said would be heavy and galling to the disciples. So he says, “so that you may be comforted.” But this again is heavy — not so heavy as the first, but still heavy. So he trims away what is galling in this too, smoothing his words on every side and making them easy to accept. He does not say simply “to be comforted,” but “to be comforted together with you.” Nor was he content with this; he adds a further soothing touch when he says, “by the mutual faith both of you and me.”

Oh, how great his humility was! He showed that he needed them too, not only they him. He puts the disciples in the place of teachers, letting no superiority remain on his own side, but pointing out that they were entirely equal. For the gain is mutual, he means: “I need comfort from you, and you need it from me.” And how does this come about? “By the mutual faith both of you and me.” Just as with fire, if someone gathers many lamps together, he kindles a bright flame, so it naturally happens with the faithful. When we are by ourselves, torn away from the others, we are somehow in lower spirits; but when we see one another, and are knit together with our own members, we receive great comfort.

You must not look at the present time, when by God’s grace there are great hosts of believers both in the city and in the desert itself, and all ungodliness has been driven out. Think instead of that time, and what a great good it was then for disciples to see their teacher, and for brothers and sisters who had come from another city to be seen by their brothers and sisters.

To make what I am saying plainer, let me give an example. Suppose it should happen — may it never happen! — that we were carried off to the land of the Persians or the Scythians or some other barbarians, and scattered by twos and threes among their cities, and then suddenly saw someone from here coming to us. Think what a harvest of comfort we would reap from it! Do you not see those in prison, too — how they revive when they see someone they know, and are all aflutter with pleasure? And if I compare those days with captivity and imprisonment, do not be surprised. For those believers suffered far harder things than captives and prisoners: scattered as they were, driven about, living in the midst of famine and wars, trembling every day in expectation of death, suspicious of friends and kin and relatives, living in the world as in a foreign land — yes, and in a far harder plight than people who live in someone else’s country.

This is why he says, “so that you may be established and comforted with us by our mutual faith.” He says this not as though he himself needed any help from them. Far from it! How could he — the pillar of the church, stronger than iron and rock, the spiritual diamond, equal to the care of countless cities? He says it so that his language would not be headlong and his rebuke harsh; that is why he says that he himself also needs their comfort. And if anyone here should say that the comfort was his gladness at the growth of their faith, and that Paul needed this, he would not be mistaking his meaning that way either. Someone might say: “If you desire it, then, and pray for it, and will both receive comfort and give it by coming, what is there to stop you from coming?” To dispel this suspicion, he goes on.

Verse 13: “Now I do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, that I often wanted to come to you (but was hindered until now).” [n]

Here is obedience as great as a slave’s, and a plain display of his fine spirit! He says that he was hindered, but why, he does not go on to say. He does not pry into his Master’s command; he simply obeys. And yet one might have expected someone to raise questions: why did God keep a city so conspicuous and great, one the whole world was looking to, from enjoying such a teacher, and for so long? For whoever had won over the ruling city could easily go on to its subjects; but whoever left the more royal city alone and busied himself with its dependents had left the main thing neglected.

But he troubles himself with none of these things. He yields to providence, which is past our understanding, and in this way both shows the right temper of his own soul and teaches all of us never to call God to account for what happens, even when what is done seems to trouble the minds of many. For it is the Master’s part alone to command, and the servants’ to obey. That is why he says that he was hindered, but not for what reason. What he means is: “Even I do not know; so do not ask me for the counsel or mind of God.” For “the thing formed will not say to the one who formed it, ‘Why have you made me like this?’”

Tell me, why do you even try to learn it? Do you not know that everything is in his care; that he is wise; that he does nothing at random; that he loves you more than those who gave you birth, and goes far beyond a father’s tender affection and a mother’s anxious care for you? Then seek no further, and do not go a step beyond this. This is comfort enough for you, since even then things were well arranged for the Romans. And if you do not know how, do not take it to heart. For this is a chief mark of faith: to accept what we are told about his providence, even when we do not know the manner of his arrangement.

So Paul has made the point he was so eager to make. And what was that? That it was not out of any disregard for them that he had not come to them, but because he had been prevented, though he longed very much to come. He has cleared himself of the charge of slackness, and persuaded them that he wanted to see them no less than they wanted to see him. Now he goes on to show his love for them in other ways too. Even when I was prevented, he means, I did not give up the attempt. I kept trying all the time, and all the time I was prevented; and yet I never gave it up, and I never quarreled with the will of God, but kept my love. By setting himself this goal and never giving it up, he showed his affection for them; and by being prevented and yet not struggling against it, he showed the whole of his love for God. [o]

“So that I might have some fruit among you also.” He had already told them the reason for his longing and shown that it was a fitting one; still, he states it here as well, clearing away every suspicion they might have. The city was famous. In all the reach of sea and land it had no equal, and for many people the mere wish to get to know it was reason enough for a journey there. So that they would not think anything of that kind about Paul, or suspect that he wanted to be there only for the glory of claiming them as his own, he sets down the reason for his desire again and again. Before, he said it was so that “I may impart to you some spiritual gift” that he wanted to see them; here he says it more plainly: “that I might have some fruit among you also, even as among other Gentiles.”

He puts the rulers alongside their subjects. After all their countless triumphs and victories, and all the glory of their consuls, he puts them alongside the barbarians — and rightly so. For where the nobility of faith is, there is no barbarian, no Greek, no foreigner, no citizen; all rise to one and the same height of honor.

And see how unassuming he is here too. He does not say, “so that I may teach and instruct you,” but what? “That I might have some fruit.” And not simply fruit, but “some fruit,” once again making little of his own part, just as he said above, “that I may impart some gift.” And then, to keep them humble as well, as I said before, he adds, “even as among other Gentiles.” That is: I do not show less concern for the others because you are rich and ahead of everyone else. It is not the rich we are looking for, but the faithful.

Where now are the wise men of the Greeks, with their long beards and their loose-hanging cloaks, puffing out their big words? The tentmaker has won over all Greece and all the barbarian lands. But Plato, so praised and so made much of among them, came to Sicily a third time, with the bombast of those words of his and his brilliant reputation, and did not win over even a single king. He came off so miserably that he even lost his freedom. This tentmaker, though, ran through not Sicily alone, or Italy, but the whole world. And even while he was preaching he did not give up his trade: he was still sewing hides and overseeing the workshop. Nor did this offend those who were born of consuls, and with very good reason. It is not a teacher’s trade or occupation that usually makes him easy to despise, but falsehood and counterfeit teachings. That is why even the Athenians still laugh at Plato, while even barbarians listen to this man, and even the foolish and the unlearned.

For his preaching is set before all alike. It knows no distinction of rank, no preeminence of nation, nothing of that sort; it asks for faith alone, not for arguments. That is why it deserves the highest admiration: not only because it is profitable and brings salvation, but because it is easy to accept and easy to take hold of, and within everyone’s understanding. And this is a chief aim of the providence of God, who sets out his blessings for all in common. What he did with the sun and the moon, the earth and the sea and all the rest — not giving the rich and the wise a larger share of their benefits and the poor a smaller one, but setting out their enjoyment for all alike — he did also with the preaching, and to a much greater degree, since the preaching is so much more necessary than they are. That is why Paul keeps saying, “among all the Gentiles”: to show that he is not favoring the Romans in any way, but carrying out his Master’s command. And to turn them toward giving thanks to the God of all, he says: [s]

Verse 14: “I am a debtor to the Greeks and to the barbarians, both to the wise and to the unwise.”

He said the same thing when writing to the Corinthians (First Corinthians 9, verse 16). And he says it to credit the whole thing to God.

Verse 15: “So, as much as lies in me, I am ready to preach the good news to you who are in Rome also.” [t]

What a noble soul! He had taken on a task loaded with dangers this great: a voyage across the sea, trials, plots, uprisings. For it was only to be expected that a man about to address so great a city, one held under the cruel rule of ungodliness, would meet trials as thick as snowflakes. And in fact it was in this very city that he lost his life, cut off by its tyrant. Yet though he expected to go through such troubles, none of them made him any less energetic. He was in a hurry, he was in labor over it, he was eager. That is why he says, “So, as much as lies in me, I am ready to preach the good news to you who are in Rome also.”

Verse 16: “For I am not ashamed of the good news.”

What are you saying, Paul? You ought to have said, “I boast of it, I am proud of it, I revel in it.” You do not say that, but something less: that you are “not ashamed” — which is not what we usually say of things that are truly glorious. So what does he mean, and why does he speak this way, when he exults in it more than in heaven itself? Writing to the Galatians, at least, he said, “Far be it from me to boast, except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Galatians 6, verse 14). How is it, then, that here he says, not “I even boast,” but “I am not ashamed”?

The Romans were intensely eager for the things of this world, because of their wealth, their empire and their victories. They counted their kings equal to the gods, and even called them gods, and for this reason they worshiped them with temples and altars and sacrifices. They were puffed up like this, and Paul was about to preach Jesus: a man thought to be the carpenter’s son, brought up in Judea, and that in the house of a woman of no standing; a man who had no bodyguards, who was not surrounded by wealth, but even died as a criminal among robbers and endured many other things without glory. And they were probably keeping out of sight, since they did not yet know any of those great things that are beyond words. That is why he says, “I am not ashamed”: he still had to teach them not to be ashamed. For he knew that if they managed this, they would soon go further and come to boasting as well.

So you too: if you hear anyone saying, “Do you worship the Crucified?” do not be ashamed and do not look at the ground. Revel in it, let your face shine at it, and with the eyes of a free man and your head held high, make your confession. And if he says again, “Do you worship the Crucified?” answer him, “Yes! And not the adulterer, not the man who outraged his father, not the murderer of his children” — for that is what all their gods are — “but the one who by the cross stopped the mouths of the demons and did away with their countless conjuring tricks.” For the cross is for our sake. It is the work of a love for humankind beyond words, the sign of his great care for us.

Besides what has been said: since they were puffed up with grand and pompous speech and with the cloak of the wisdom of those outside, he means, “I have said a complete farewell to these arguments, and I come to preach the cross, and I am not ashamed of it, ‘for it is the power of God for salvation.’” For there is a power of God for chastisement too — when he chastised the Egyptians, he said, “This is my great power” (Joel 2, verse 25) — and a power for destruction: “Fear him,” he says, “who is able to destroy both body and soul in hell” (Matthew 10, verse 28). That is why he says: It is not these I come bringing, the powers of chastisement and punishment, but the power of salvation.

What, then? Did not the good news tell of those things too — of hell, of the outer darkness, of the venomous worm? Indeed we know of them from no other source than the good news. In what sense, then, does he say, “the power of God for salvation”? Only pay attention to what follows.

“To everyone who believes, to the Jew first, and also to the Greek.” It is not for everyone without condition, but for those who receive it. Even if you are a Greek, and one who has run into every kind of vice; even if you are a Scythian, a barbarian, no better than an animal without reason, full of every kind of irrationality and weighed down with the burden of endless sins — no sooner have you received the word about the cross and been baptized than you have wiped all of it away. [x]

Then why does he say here, “to the Jew first, and also to the Greek”? What does this difference mean? He has often said, “Neither circumcision is anything, nor uncircumcision” (First Corinthians 7, verse 19; see also Galatians 5, verse 6, and 6, verse 15). How is it, then, that here he makes a distinction, putting the Jew ahead of the Greek? Why is this? Being first does not mean that the Jew receives any more of the grace, for the same gift is given to both the one and the other. “First” is an honor of order in time only. The Jew has no such advantage as receiving a greater righteousness; he is only honored in receiving it first.

Think of those who are being enlightened — you who are initiated know what I mean. All of them run to baptism, yet not all at the same hour, but one first and another second. Yet the first does not receive more than the second, nor the second more than the one after him; all enjoy the same gifts. So “first” here is an honor in name, not an advantage in grace.

Then, after saying “for salvation,” he makes the gift greater still, by showing that it does not stop at the present but goes on further. For this is what he sets out when he says:

Verse 17: “For in it the righteousness of God is revealed from faith to faith; as it is written, ‘The righteous will live by faith.’”

But the one who has become righteous will live, not for the present life only, but for the life to come. And he hints at more than this; along with it he hints at something else as well: the brightness and glory of such a life. It is possible to be saved and yet not without shame — as many are saved who are released from punishment by the emperor’s kindness. So that no one would suspect anything like that on hearing of salvation, he adds righteousness too; and not your own righteousness, but God’s, hinting also at how abundant it is and how easy. For you do not achieve it by toil and labor; you receive it as a gift from above, bringing only one thing of your own: believing. [z]

Then, since his statement did not seem believable — that the adulterer, the effeminate man, the grave robber and the sorcerer should not only be suddenly freed from punishment, but become righteous, and righteous with the highest righteousness — he confirms what he has said from the Old Testament. First, in a short phrase, he opens up a vast sea of history to anyone able to see it. For after saying “from faith to faith,” he sends the hearer back to God’s arrangements, which took place in just this way in the Old Testament. Writing to the Hebrews, he explains them with his usual great wisdom, showing that both the righteous and sinners were counted righteous in that way even then; that is why he mentions both the prostitute and Abraham there. But here he only hints at it, for he was hurrying on to another and a pressing subject. Then he again confirms what he had said from the prophets, bringing Habakkuk before them, crying out and saying that it is not in the nature of things for the one who is to live to live in any other way than by faith: “The righteous,” he says, “will live by faith” (Habakkuk 2, verse 4) — speaking of the life to come.

For since what God gives is entirely beyond reasoning, it stands to reason that we need faith. The man who thinks little of it, who is contemptuous and chases empty glory, will accomplish nothing at all. Let the heretics listen to the voice of the Spirit. For this is what reasonings are like: they are like a labyrinth or riddles that have no end anywhere. They do not let the mind stand on the rock, and they have their very origin in empty pride. These people are ashamed to accept faith and to seem ignorant of heavenly things, and so they wrap themselves in a dust cloud of countless reasonings.

You miserable, pitiable man, worthy of endless tears! If anyone asked you how the heaven was made, and how the earth — but why do I say heaven and earth? — how you yourself were born, how you were nourished, how you grew, you feel no shame then at not knowing, do you? But if anything is said about the only Son, do you throw yourself, out of shame, into a pit of destruction, thinking it beneath you not to know everything? And yet it is quarrelsomeness that is beneath you, and so is curiosity out of season.

But why do I speak of doctrines? Even from the corruption of our present life we have escaped by no other means than faith. This is how all those of old shone: this is how Abraham shone, and Isaac, and Jacob. This is how the prostitute was saved — the one in the Old Testament, and the one in the New as well. “By faith,” he says, “Rahab the prostitute did not perish with those who did not believe, when she had received the spies” (Hebrews 11, verse 31). For if she had said to herself, “How can these people, captives and exiles and refugees, living the life of wandering tribes, get the better of us, who have a city and walls and towers?” she would have destroyed both herself and them. That is exactly what happened to the forefathers of those who were saved then. When they saw men who were huge and tall, and questioned how victory could come, they all perished, without a battle, without a battle line. Do you see what a pit unbelief is, and what a wall faith is? The one carried down countless thousands; the other not only saved a prostitute, but made her the protector of so great a people!

Since we know these examples, and more than these, let us never call God to account for what he does. Whatever he lays on us, let us take it up, and let us not run into fine points and curious questions, even if to human reasoning what is commanded looks wrong. For what, tell me, looks more wrong than for a father to kill his only, true-born son with his own hands (Genesis 22, verse 3)? Yet when the righteous man was told to do it, he raised no fine objections, but because of the dignity of the one who gave the command, he simply accepted it. Another man, told by God to strike a prophet, raised fine objections about how unreasonable the command seemed and did not simply obey, and he was punished to the utmost (First Kings 20, verses 35 and 36). But the man who struck him won a good name. Saul too, when he spared men against the decree of God, fell from the kingdom and was punished beyond recovery. And one could find other examples besides these. From all of them we learn never to demand a reason for God’s commands, but only to yield and obey. [ab]

But if it is dangerous to raise fine objections about anything he commands, and the most severe punishment is set for those who ask curious questions, what possible excuse will those have who pry with curiosity into things far more hidden and awesome than these — how he begot the Son, for instance, and in what way, and what his being is?

Since we know this, then, let us welcome with all goodwill faith, the mother of all blessings, so that, sailing as it were in a calm harbor, we may keep our beliefs right, and by steering our life safely on a straight course may attain those eternal blessings, through the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom and with whom be glory to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, forever and ever. Amen.