Homily 9 — Romans 4, verse 23, to 5, verse 11

“Now it was not written for his sake alone that it was counted to him as righteousness, but for us also, to whom it will be counted, if we believe in him who raised Jesus our Lord from the dead.” [a]

After saying many great things about Abraham — his faith, his righteousness, and his honor before God — Paul sets us close beside the patriarch once again, so that the hearer would not say: “What is that to us? It was he who was counted righteous.” So great is the power of spiritual words. For of one of the Gentiles — a man who had only just drawn near, who had done no works — he says not only that he is in no way inferior to the Jew who believes, but that he is not inferior even to the patriarch; or rather, if one must speak out the wonderful truth, that he is even much greater. For our birth is so noble that Abraham’s faith is only the type of ours.

And he does not say, “If it was counted to him, it is likely that it will be counted to us too,” so as not to make it a matter of logical inference. Instead he speaks in the authoritative words of the divine law and makes the whole thing a declaration of Scripture. Why was it written, he says, except to make us see that we too were counted righteous in this way? For it is the same God we have believed, and about the same things, even if it is not the case of the same persons.

And after speaking of our faith, he also mentions God’s love for humankind, which is beyond words, and which he always brings forward on every side, setting the cross before us. He makes this plain now by saying (verse 25): “who was handed over for our offenses, and was raised again so that we might be counted righteous.”

See how, after mentioning the cause of his death, he makes that same cause a proof of the resurrection as well. Why, he means, was he crucified? Not for any sin of his own. And this is plain from the resurrection. For if he were a sinner, how could he have risen? But if he rose, it is quite plain that he was not a sinner. And if he was not a sinner, how did he come to be crucified? For others. And if for others, then surely he rose again. [d]

Then, so that you would not say, “How did we come to be counted righteous, when we were liable for such great sins?” he points to the one who wipes out all sins. In this way, from both — from Abraham’s faith, by which he was counted righteous, and from the Savior’s suffering, by which we were freed from our sins — he confirms what he had said. And after mentioning his death, he speaks also of his resurrection. For the purpose of his dying was not to hold us liable to punishment and under condemnation, but to do us good. That is why he both died and rose again: to make us righteous.

Romans 5, verse 1: “Therefore, having been counted righteous by faith, let us have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.” [e]

What does “let us have peace” mean? Some say it means, “Let us not quarrel, out of a peevish stubbornness, about bringing in the law.” But to me he seems to be speaking now of the way we live. He had said a great deal on the subject of faith and had set it ahead of the righteousness that comes from works. So, to keep anyone from supposing that what he said was an excuse for carelessness, he says, “let us have peace” — that is, let us sin no more, and not go back to our former state. For that is making war with God.

Someone says: “And how is it possible to sin no more?” How was the earlier thing possible? If, when we were liable for so many sins, we were freed from them all by Christ, much more will we be able through him to remain in the state we are in. For it is not the same thing to receive peace where there was none and to keep it once it has been given, since surely acquiring is harder than keeping. Yet the harder thing has been made easy and carried out. So the easier thing is one we will easily manage, if we cling to him who has done even the other for us.

But here it is not only how easy it is that he seems to me to hint at, but how reasonable. For if he reconciled us when we were at open war with him, it is reasonable that we should remain reconciled, and give him this reward, so that he may not seem to have reconciled perverse and unfeeling creatures to the Father.

Verse 2: “Through whom also we have access,” he says, “by faith into this grace.” [f]

If, then, he brought us near to himself when we were far off, much more will he keep us now that we are near. And please notice how everywhere he sets down these two points: his part and our part. On his part the things are many, varied, and diverse. He died for us, and more than that, reconciled us, brought us to himself, and gave us grace beyond words. But we brought only faith as our contribution. So he says, “by faith, into this grace.”

What grace is this? Tell me. It is being counted worthy of the knowledge of God, being freed from error, coming to the knowledge of the truth, obtaining all the blessings that come through baptism. For the purpose of his bringing us near was that we might receive these gifts. We were not reconciled only so that we might have simple forgiveness of sins, but so that we might also receive countless benefits. And he did not even stop at these, but promised others: those blessings beyond words, which pass understanding and speech alike. That is why he has set down both. By mentioning grace he plainly points to what we have received already; but by saying, “and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God,” he unveils the whole of what is to come.

And he said well, “in which we stand.” For this is the nature of God’s grace: it has no end, it knows no limit, but is always advancing to greater things — which is not the case in human affairs. Take an example of what I mean. A person has acquired rule and glory and authority, yet he does not stand in it continually, but is quickly thrown out of it. Or if no man takes it from him, death comes and is sure to take it. But God’s gifts are not like this. Neither man, nor circumstance, nor a crisis in affairs, nor even the devil, nor death can come and throw us out of them. On the contrary, when we are dead we possess them then all the more truly, and go on enjoying more and more.

So if you feel doubt about the blessings to come, then believe in those too on the strength of the present ones, and of what you have already received. This is why he says, “and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God” — so that you may learn what kind of soul the faithful ought to have. We ought to be full of confidence not only about what has been given, but about what is still to be given, as though it had already been given. For one “rejoices” over what is already given. Since, then, the hope of things to come is just as sure and clear as what has been given, he says that we “rejoice” in that too, in the same way. That is also why he called them glory. For if it serves God’s glory, it will certainly come to pass — if not for our sake, then for his.

And why do I say, he means, that the blessings to come are worth glorying in? Why, even the very evils of the present time are able to brighten our faces and let us find our rest in them. That is why he added (verse 3): “And not only so, but we also glory in troubles.”

Consider, then, how great the things to come must be, when we can be lifted up even at things that seem distressing. So great is God’s gift, and so completely nothing is anything unpleasant in them! In the case of outward goods, the struggle for them brings trouble and pain and weariness with it, and it is the crowns and rewards that carry the pleasure. But here it is not so: to us the wrestling bouts are no less sweet than the rewards.

There were all kinds of trials in those days. The kingdom was still only a hope; the terrors were close at hand, while the good things were only expected; and this was unnerving the weaker ones. So even before the crowns he gives them the prize now, by saying that we “glory even in troubles.” And what he says is not “you should glory,” but “we glory,” encouraging them by speaking of himself along with them.

Next, since what he had said seemed strange and paradoxical — that a person struggling with hunger, in chains and torments, insulted and abused, ought to glory — he goes on to confirm it. And what is more, he says that troubles are worth glorying in not only for the sake of the things to come, but for the present, in themselves. For troubles are a good thing in their own right. How so? Because they anoint us for endurance. That is why, after saying that we glory in troubles, he has added the reason in these words: “knowing that trouble produces endurance.”

Notice again Paul’s skill in argument, how he turns their argument around. It was troubles above all that were making them give up the hopes of things to come and throwing them into dejection. He says that these very things are reasons for confidence, and for not losing heart about the things to come; for “trouble,” he says, “produces endurance.”

Verses 4 and 5: “and endurance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not put us to shame.” [i]

Troubles, that is, are so far from disproving these hopes that they even prove them. Before the things to come arrive, trouble already has a very great fruit — endurance — and it makes the man who is tested a man of proven character. And it contributes something to the things to come as well, for it gives hope vigor within us, since nothing so inclines a man to hope for good things as a good conscience. No one who has lived an upright life lacks confidence about the things to come; whereas among those who have been careless there are many who feel the burden of a bad conscience and wish there were neither judgment nor recompense.

What then? Do our good things lie in hopes? Yes, in hopes — but not mere human hopes, which often slip away and put the one who hoped to shame, when someone who was expected to be his patron dies, or changes toward him while he is still alive. No such lot is ours. Our hope is sure and unmoving. For he who made the promise lives forever, and we who are to enjoy it, even if we die, will rise again. There is absolutely nothing that can put us to shame, as though we had been lifted up at random and to no purpose, on unsound hopes.

Having thus sufficiently cleared them of all doubt by these words, he does not let his discourse stop at the present time, but presses on again to the time to come. He knew that there were people of weaker character who looked for present advantages too, and were not satisfied with the things he had mentioned. So he offers them a proof from the blessings already given. For someone might say: “But what if God is unwilling to give them to us? That he can, and that he remains and lives, we all know. But how do we know that he is also willing to do it?”

From the things that have already been done. [j]

“What things?” The love he has shown for us. “In doing what?” In giving the Holy Spirit. That is why, after saying “hope does not put us to shame,” he goes on to prove it, as follows:

“Because the love of God” — he does not say “has been given,” but “has been poured out in our hearts,” so showing how lavish it is. So he has given that gift which is the greatest possible — not heaven and earth and sea, but something more precious than any of these. And he has made us angels instead of men, and more than that, sons of God and brothers of Christ. And what is this gift? The Holy Spirit. Now if he had not been willing to present us with great crowns after our labors, he would never have given us such mighty gifts before our labors. But as it is, the warmth of his love is plain from this: he does not honor us gradually and little by little, but has poured out the whole fountain of his blessings, and that before our struggles.

So even if you are not especially worthy, do not lose heart, since you have that love of your Judge as a powerful advocate on your side. That is why Paul himself, by saying “hope does not put us to shame,” has credited everything not to our good deeds but to God’s love. But after mentioning the gift of the Spirit, he passes again to the cross, speaking as follows: [k]

Verses 6 to 8: “For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will scarcely die for a righteous man; though perhaps for a good man someone would even dare to die. But God shows his love toward us.”

What he is saying is something like this. If no one would readily choose to die even for a virtuous man, consider your Master’s love, when he is seen to have been crucified not for virtuous men, but for sinners and enemies. He says this too next: “in that, if when we were sinners Christ died for us,”

Verses 9 and 10: “much more, then, having now been counted righteous by his blood, we will be saved from wrath through him. For if, when we were enemies, we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, having been reconciled, we will be saved by his life.”

What he has said does look like repetition, but it is not, to anyone who pays careful attention. Consider, then. He wants to give them reasons for confidence about the things to come. First he makes them ashamed by the righteous man’s own decision, when he says that he too “was fully persuaded that what God had promised he was also able to do.” Next he does it from the grace that was given; then from trouble, as enough to lead us into hope; and again from the Spirit whom we have received. Next he makes his case from death and from our former wickedness. [l]

And it seems, as I said, that what he mentioned was one thing, but it turns out to be two, three, and even many more. First, that “he died”; second, that it was “for the ungodly”; third, that he “reconciled,” “saved,” and “counted righteous” us, made us immortal, made us sons and heirs. It is not from his death alone, he says, that we draw strong assurances, but from the gift given to us through his death. Indeed, if he had only died for creatures such as we are, what he did would be proof of the greatest love. But when he is seen at once dying, and giving us a gift — and such a gift, and to such creatures — what was done throws our highest thoughts into the shade and leads even the dullest on to faith. For no one else will save us except the one who so loved us when we were sinners that he even gave himself up for us.

Do you see what grounds for hope this point gives? Before this there were two obstacles to our being saved: our being sinners, and our salvation requiring the Lord’s death — a thing quite unbelievable before it happened, and which needed exceeding love for it to happen. But now that this has come about, the other requirements are easier. We have become friends, and there is no further need of death. Will he who so spared his enemies that he did not spare his Son fail to defend them now that they have become friends, when he no longer needs to give up his Son?

For when someone does not save, it is either because he does not want to, or because, though perhaps he wants to, he is unable. Neither of these can be said of God. That he is willing is plain from his having given up his Son. And that he is able as well is the very thing he also proved, by the very fact that he counted sinners righteous. What, then, is there any longer to keep us from obtaining the things to come? Nothing!

Then again, so that you would not feel ashamed and blush on hearing of sinners, and enemies, and the weak, and the ungodly, hear what he says.

Verse 11: “And not only so, but we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received the reconciliation.” [m]

What does “not only so” mean? Not only were we saved, he means, but we even glory in the very thing for which some suppose we ought to hide our faces. For that we, who lived in such great wickedness, should be saved was a very great mark of our being exceedingly loved by the one who saved us. For it was not by angels or archangels, but by his only Son himself, that he saved us. So the fact that he saved us, and saved us when we were in such a state, and did it through his only Son — and not merely through his only Son, but through his blood — weaves for us endless crowns to glory in.

For nothing counts so much toward glory and confidence as being loved as friends by God, and finding a friend in him who loves us. This is what makes the angels glorious, and the rulers and authorities. This is greater than the kingdom, and that is why Paul placed it above the kingdom. It is for this, too, that I count the bodiless powers blessed: because they love him and obey him in all things. That is why the prophet too expressed his admiration of them: “You who are mighty in strength, who carry out his word” (Psalm 103, verse 20). And that is why Isaiah too extols the seraphim, setting out their great excellence from their standing near that glory, which is a sign of the greatest love.

Let us, then, strive to be like the powers above, and long not only to stand near the throne, but to have him who sits on the throne living in us. He loved us when we hated him, and he goes on loving us. “For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous” (Matthew 5, verse 45). Since, then, he loves us, you must love him. For he loves us as a friend.

And someone will say: “How is it that one who is our friend threatens hell, and punishment, and vengeance?” It is because he loves us, and for no other reason. Everything he does and busies himself with is aimed at cutting away your wickedness; at reining in, with fear as with a kind of bridle, your leaning toward what is worse; at recovering you from your downward course by blessings and by pains, and leading you up to himself, and keeping you from all vice, which is worse than hell.

But if you mock what is said, and would rather live in misery all the time than be punished for a single day, it is no wonder. This is only a sign of your immature judgment, your drunkenness, and your incurable disorder. Little children, when they see the physician about to apply the hot iron or the knife, run and jump away screaming and writhing, and would rather have a sore eating into their body all the time than endure a brief pain and enjoy health afterward. But those who have reached the age of discretion know that being diseased is worse than submitting to the knife, just as being wicked is worse than being punished. The one means being cured and being healthy; the other means ruining one’s constitution and living in constant weakness. And that health is better than weakness is surely plain to everyone.

So thieves ought to weep, not when their sides are pierced through, but when they pierce through walls and commit murder. For if the soul is better than the body — as it is — there is more reason to groan and lament when it is ruined; and if a man does not feel it, all the more reason to mourn over him. Those who love with an unbridled love ought to be pitied more than those who have a raging fever, and those who are drunk more than those who are being tortured.

But someone may say: “If these things are more painful, how is it that we prefer them?” Because there are many people who, as the proverb says, love what is worse; they choose it and pass by the better. One can see this happening in food as well as in forms of government, in the careers people compete in, in the enjoyment of pleasure, in wives, in houses, in slaves, in lands, and in everything else. Which, tell me, gives more pleasure: lying with women or with males? With women or with mules? Yet we will find many who pass by women and lie with animals without reason, and abuse the bodies of males. Yet natural pleasures are greater than unnatural ones. Still, there are many who chase after things that are ridiculous and joyless and carry a penalty, as though they were pleasant. [r]

Someone may say: “Well, but to them these things seem pleasant.” This alone is enough to make them miserable: that they think things are pleasant that are not. In the same way they suppose punishment to be worse than sin, which it is not; it is just the opposite. For if punishment were an evil to the sinner, God would not have added evils to the evil; he who does everything to put out evil would not have increased it. So being punished is no evil to the man who has done wrong; what is evil is not being punished when he is in that state — just as it is for the sick not to be cured.

For there is nothing so evil as desire that goes beyond bounds. And when I say beyond bounds, I mean the desire for luxury, for misplaced glory, for power, and in general for everything that goes beyond what is necessary. That is what the man who lives a soft and dissolute life is like: he seems to be the happiest of men, but he is the most wretched, since he brings harsh and tyrannical masters in to rule over his soul. That is why God has made the present life one of labor for us: to rid us of that slavery and bring us into true freedom. That is why he threatened punishment and made labors part of our lot in life, so muzzling our boastfulness. In this way the Jews too, when they were chained to the clay and the brickmaking, were masters of themselves and called on God continually. But when they enjoyed freedom, they grumbled, and provoked the Lord, and pierced themselves through with countless evils.

But someone may say: “What, then, will you say about the many cases of people changed for the worse by troubles?” Why, that this is not the effect of trouble, but of their own weakness. If a man had a weak stomach and could not take a bitter medicine meant to purge him, but was even made worse by it, it is not the drug we would find fault with, but the weakness of the organ. So here too we should blame the softness of temper. For the man who is changed like this by trouble is much more likely to be affected in the same way by ease. If he gives way even when he is splinted and bound — and that is what affliction is — much more will he when the bandage is removed. If he is changed when he is braced up, much more when he is slack and swollen.

Someone may ask: “And how am I to keep from being changed like this by trouble?” By reflecting that, whether you like it or not, you will have to bear what has been laid on you. If you do it with a thankful spirit, you will gain a great deal by it; but if you are indignant, and rage, and blaspheme, you will not make the calamity lighter, but will make its waves rougher. So by thinking this way, let us turn what is necessary into a matter of our own choice.

What I mean is this. Suppose one man has lost his own son, another all his property. Reflect that it is not in the nature of things for what has happened to be undone, while it is possible to gain fruit from the misfortune, though it cannot be mended — the fruit of bearing what has happened nobly. If, instead of using blasphemous words, you were to offer up words of thanksgiving to the Lord, then the evils that came upon you against your will would become for you the good deeds of free choice. Have you seen a son taken away before his time?

Say, “The Lord gave, the Lord has taken away.” Do you see your fortune used up? Say, “Naked I came out of my mother’s womb, and naked I will return there” (Job 1, verse 21). Do you see evil men doing well, and righteous men doing badly and suffering countless ills, and you do not know where to find the reason? Say, “I became like a beast before you; yet I am always with you” (Psalm 73, verse 22). But if you want to search out the reason, reflect that he has fixed a day on which he will judge the world, and you will throw off your perplexity; for then every man will receive what he deserves, as Lazarus and the rich man did. [u]

Remember the apostles. They too rejoiced at being flogged, at being driven from place to place and suffering countless things, because they had been “counted worthy to suffer shame for his name’s sake” (Acts 5, verse 41). So you too, if you are sick, bear it nobly and acknowledge that you are indebted to God for it, and you will receive the same reward as they did.

But how, when you are weak and in pain, will you be able to feel grateful to the Lord? You will, if you love him sincerely. For if the three young men who were thrown into the furnace, and others who were in prisons and in countless other evils, did not stop giving thanks, much more will those who are sick be able to do so. For there is nothing — truly there is nothing — that a burning desire does not overcome. And when the desire is for God, it is higher than anything. Neither fire, nor sword, nor poverty, nor sickness, nor death, nor anything else of the kind looks dreadful to one who has gained this love. He will scorn them all and fly to heaven, and his feelings will be in no way inferior to those of the ones who live there. He will see nothing else — not heaven, not earth, not sea — but will gaze only at the one beauty of that glory. Neither will the hardships of this present life drag him down, nor will the things that are fine and pleasant lift him up or puff him up.

So let us love with this love — for there is nothing equal to it — both for the sake of things present and for the sake of things to come; or rather, more than for these, for the sake of the love itself. For we will be set free from the punishments both of this life and of the life to come, and we will enjoy the kingdom. Yet neither escaping hell nor enjoying the kingdom is anything great compared with what is still to be said. For greater than all these things is to have Christ as our beloved and at the same time our lover. If, when this happens among human beings, it is beyond all pleasure, then when both come from God, what language or what thought can set before us the blessedness of such a soul? None can, except experience alone.

So that we may come to know by experience what this spiritual joy is, this life of blessedness, this untold treasure of good things, let us leave everything to cling to that love, both for our own joy and for the glory of God. For to him belongs the glory and the power, with his only Son and the Holy Spirit, now and always, and to all ages forever. Amen.