Homily 27 — Matthew 8, verses 14 to 22

“And when Jesus had come into Peter’s house, he saw his wife’s mother lying in bed, sick with a fever. And he touched her hand, and the fever left her, and she got up and served him.” [a]

Mark adds “immediately” as well, meaning to show the time too; but this evangelist has set down only the miracle, without indicating the time besides. And where the others say that the sick woman also pleaded with him, he has passed this over in silence too. This does not come from any disagreement between them: the one account comes from a wish to be brief, the other from a wish to tell it exactly. But why did he go into Peter’s house? It seems to me it was to take a meal. This at least is shown when it says, “She got up and served him.”

For he used to visit his disciples — as he did Matthew too, when he had called him — and so he honored them and made them more eager.

But notice here too, I beg you, Peter’s reverence toward him. Though he had his wife’s mother lying ill at home, very sick with a fever, he did not draw him into his house. He waited first for the teaching to be finished, then for all the others to be healed; and then, when he had come in, he asked him. So from the beginning he was trained to put the concerns of everyone else ahead of his own.

That is why he does not bring him in himself. Jesus went in of his own accord — after the centurion had said, “I am not worthy that you should come under my roof” — to show how much favor he granted his disciple. And yet think what the houses of these fishermen were like! For all that, he did not disdain to go into their poor huts, teaching you in every way to trample human pride underfoot.

Sometimes he heals by words only; sometimes he even stretches out his hand; sometimes he does both, to bring his way of healing into view. It was not his will always to work miracles in the more astonishing way, since he needed to stay hidden for a while, and especially as far as his disciples were concerned; for in their great delight they would have announced everything. This was clear from the fact that even after they had come to the mountain, he had to order them to tell no one.

So when he had touched her body, he not only put out the fever but also gave her back perfect health. The disease was an ordinary one, so he showed his power by the way he healed it — something no physician’s skill could have done. You know that even after a fever has left them, patients still need a long time to get back their former health. But here everything happened at once.

And not in this case only, but also in the case of the sea. There, too, he did not only quiet the winds and the storm; he also stilled the swelling of the waves at once, and this too was something extraordinary. For even when a storm stops, the waves go on swelling for a long time. But with Christ it was not so: everything was ended at once. And so it was with this woman too. That is why the evangelist, to make this plain, said, “She got up and served him.” This was a sign both of Christ’s power and of the feeling the woman showed toward Christ.

And along with these we may notice another thing here: Christ grants the healing of some people to the faith of others as well. In this case too others asked him, as they did for the centurion’s servant. He grants this when there is no unbelief in the one who is to be healed, but that person either cannot come to him because of illness, or out of ignorance imagines nothing great about him, or is too young.

“When evening had come, they brought to him many who were possessed by demons, and he cast the spirits out of them with a word, and healed all who were sick, so that what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled: ‘He took our infirmities and bore our sicknesses.’” [d]

Do you see the crowd, by now growing in faith? Even when the hour pressed they could not bear to leave, and they did not think it the wrong time to bring their sick to him in the evening.

But notice, I beg you, how great a crowd of healed people the evangelists pass over quickly. They do not mention them one by one and give us an account of each; in a single word they cross a sea of miracles beyond telling. Then, so that the greatness of the wonder would not drive us back into unbelief — that so great a people, with all their different diseases, should be set free and healed by him in a single moment — he brings in the prophet as well, to bear witness to what was happening. He shows how abundant the proof is that we have from the Scriptures in every case: no less than what we have from the miracles themselves. And he says that Isaiah too spoke of these things: “He took our infirmities and bore our sicknesses.” He did not say, “He did away with them,” but “He took them and bore them.” It seems to me that the prophet said this rather of sins, in agreement with John, where he says, “Look, the Lamb of God, who bears the sin of the world.”

How, then, does the evangelist apply it here to diseases? Either he is quoting the passage in its plain historical sense, or he means to show that most of our diseases arise from sins of the soul. For if death itself, the sum of them all, has its root and foundation in sin, much more do most of our diseases; since our very capacity to suffer began there.

“Now when Jesus saw great crowds around him, he gave orders to go across to the other side.” [f]

Do you see again how free he is from showing off? The others say that “he ordered the demons not to say who he was”; this writer says that he sends the crowds away from him. In doing this he was at the same time training us to be moderate, easing the envy of the Jews, and teaching us to do nothing for display. For he was not, as we know, a healer of bodies only; he was also a physician of the soul and a teacher of self-control. He revealed himself as both, by taking away their diseases and by doing nothing for display. For they were clinging to him, loving him and marveling at him, and longing to look at him. Who would leave someone who was doing such miracles? Who would not long, if only to see the face, and the mouth that was speaking such words?

For he was wonderful not only when he worked wonders. Even when he simply showed himself, he was full of great grace. To make this plain the prophet said, “Fair in beauty beyond the children of men.” And if Isaiah says, “He has no form or comeliness,” he says it either in comparison with the glory of his Godhead, which is beyond all speech and description, or as describing what happened in his suffering — the dishonor he underwent at the time of the cross, and the lowliness he showed in every respect throughout his life.

Further, he did not give the order “to go across to the other side” first, not until he had healed them; surely they could not have borne it. On the mountain they not only stayed with him while he was teaching them, but followed him even when he had fallen silent. So here too they waited on him not only during his miracles, but also after he had stopped again, gaining no small benefit from his very face. For if Moses had his face made glorious, and Stephen’s was like the face of an angel, think what our common Lord was likely to look like at such a time.

Many, perhaps, have now fallen into a passionate longing to see that form. But if we are willing, we will see one far better than that. For if we can pass through this present life with the boldness that belongs to Christians, we will receive him in the clouds, meeting him in an immortal and incorruptible body.

But notice how he does not simply drive them away, so as not to hurt them. He did not say, “Go away,” but “gave orders to go across to the other side,” letting them expect that he would certainly come there.

The crowds, for their part, showed this great love and were following him with deep affection. But one man, a slave to money and full of arrogance, comes up to him and says, “Teacher, I will follow you wherever you go.” [h]

Do you see how great his arrogance is? He comes forward as though he did not deign to be counted with the crowd, and to show that he was above the common sort. For that is the Jewish character: full of confidence at the wrong time. So too another man later, when everyone was keeping silent, springs up on his own and says, “Which is the first commandment?”

Yet the Lord did not rebuke his untimely confidence, teaching us to bear even with people like this. That is why he does not openly expose those who are plotting mischief, but answers their secret thought. He leaves it to them alone to know that they have been found out, and does them good twice over: first by showing that he knows what is in their conscience, and then, after showing it, by letting them keep it hidden and allowing them to recover themselves again, if they are willing. And this is what he does in this man’s case too.

The man saw the many signs, and many people being drawn after him, and thought he could make a profit out of such miracles. That is why he was so eager to follow him. How is this clear? From the answer Christ gives, which meets not the question as it is worded, but the attitude its meaning shows. For he says: “What? Do you expect to gather wealth by following me? Don’t you see, then, that I do not even have a place to stay — not even as much as the birds have?” For “the foxes,” he says, “have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”

These were not the words of someone turning him away. They were the words of someone who was testing his evil disposition, and yet allowed him to follow, if he was willing to do so with such a prospect ahead. And to convince you of his wickedness: when he had heard this and had been put to the test, he did not say, “I am ready to follow you.”

Christ plainly does this in many other places too. He does not expose people openly, but by his answer he brings to light the purpose of those who come to him. So again, to the man who said “Good Teacher,” and thought he could win his favor by flattery like this, he answered according to that purpose: “Why do you call me good? No one is good but one, that is, God.” [j]

And when they said to him, “Look, your mother and your brothers are looking for you,” since these were under the influence of some human weakness — not wanting to hear something profitable, but to make a show of their relationship to him and to win empty glory by it — hear what he says: “Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?”

And again, to his brothers themselves, when they said to him, “Show yourself to the world,” wanting to feed their own empty glory by it, he said, “Your time” — so he puts it — “is always ready, but my time has not yet come.” And he does the same in the opposite cases too, as with Nathanael, when he says, “Look, an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no deceit.” And again: “Go back and tell John the things you hear and see.” For here too he did not reply to the words, but to the intention of the man who sent them.

And with the people, in the same way, he directs his words to their conscience, saying, “What did you go out into the wilderness to see?” For they were probably thinking of John as a sort of easygoing and wavering person. To correct this suspicion of theirs he says, “What did you go out into the wilderness to see? A reed shaken by the wind?” or “A man dressed in soft clothing?” By both these images he declared that John was neither a waverer in himself nor someone who would be softened by any luxury. So in the present case too he makes his answer to their meaning.

And see how in this, too, he shows great moderation. He did not say, “I have a place, but I despise it,” but “I do not have one.” Do you see how exact a care goes along with his stooping down to meet us? So too when he eats and drinks, and seems to be acting in the opposite way to John, he does this also for the salvation of the Jews — or rather, of the whole world — at once stopping the mouths of the heretics and wanting to win the people of that day to himself all the more fully.

But another man, we read, said to him, “Lord, let me first go and bury my father.” [l]

Did you notice the difference? One says shamelessly, “I will follow you wherever you go”; but this other, though he is asking for something that is a sacred duty, says, “Let me.” Yet he did not let him, but says, “Let the dead bury their dead; but you, follow me.” For in every case he looked at the intention. Someone may ask: “And why did he not let him?” Because, on the one hand, there were others who would carry out that duty, and the dead man was not going to be left unburied; and on the other, it was not right for this man to be taken away from weightier matters. And by saying “their own dead,” he implies that this man is not one of his dead. That is because the man who had died was, at least as I suppose, one of the unbelievers.

Now if you admire the young man because, for a matter so necessary, he asked Jesus and did not go off on his own, admire him much more for staying even when he was forbidden.

Someone may say: “But was it not extreme ingratitude not to be present at his father’s burial?” If he had done it out of carelessness, it was ingratitude. But if he did it so as not to interrupt a more necessary work, then going away would surely have been the height of thoughtlessness. For Jesus forbade him, not to command us to think lightly of the honor due to our parents, but to show that nothing should be more urgent to us than the things of heaven. We ought to cling to these with all diligence and not put them off even for a little while, however unavoidable and pressing our other business may be. For what could be more necessary than to bury a father? What easier? It would not even take a long time. But if we ought not to spend even as much time as a father’s burial requires, and it is not safe to be separated from our spiritual concerns even that long, think what we deserve — we who spend all our time standing apart from the things of Christ, who prefer very ordinary things to necessary ones, and who are slack when nothing is pressing on us!

Here too we should admire how instructive his teaching is. He nailed the man fast to his word, and by this he set him free from endless evils — the lamentations and the mourning and everything that follows after. For after the burial he would necessarily have had to go on to inquire about the will, then about dividing the inheritance, and all the other things that follow from that. And so wave after wave, coming one upon another, would have carried him very far from the harbor of truth. That is why he draws him and fastens him to himself.

But if you still wonder and are puzzled that he was not allowed to be present at his father’s burial, consider this. When a father has died, or a mother, or a child, or any other relative, many people do not let someone who is sick know of it, or follow the body to the tomb. And we do not accuse them of cruelty or inhumanity for this — and quite reasonably. On the contrary, it would be cruel to bring people in such a condition out to the funeral.

But if mourning and grieving for our relatives is an evil, being drawn away from spiritual teaching is a much greater one. That is why he said elsewhere too, “No one who has put his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of heaven.” And surely it is far better to proclaim the kingdom and draw others back from death than to bury a dead body that gains nothing by it — especially when there are others to carry out all these duties.

So what we learn from this is nothing else than this: we must not carelessly waste any time, not even the smallest amount, though ten thousand things press on us; we must put what is spiritual before everything, even the most unavoidable matters; and we must know what life is, and what death is. For many even of those who seem to be alive are no better than dead men, living as they do in wickedness — or rather, these are worse than the dead. “For he who has died,” it says, “is freed from sin,” but this man is a slave to sin. Do not tell me that he is not eaten by worms, does not lie in a coffin, has not closed his eyes, and is not bound in grave clothes. Why, he suffers these things more grievously than the dead: no worms devour him, but the passions of his soul tear him to pieces more fiercely than wild beasts. [m]

And if his eyes are open, this too is far worse than having closed them. The eyes of the dead see nothing evil; but this man, with his eyes open, is gathering countless diseases to himself. And while the other lies in a coffin, unmoved by anything, this one is buried in the tomb of his countless disorders.

“But you do not see his body decaying.” And what of that? Before his body, his soul is corrupted and destroyed, and undergoes a worse rottenness. The other stinks for a few days, but this man gives off evil smells his whole life long, with a mouth fouler than sewers.

So the one differs from the other by just this much: the dead man undergoes only the decay that comes from nature, but this man, along with that, brings in the rottenness that comes from self-indulgence as well, inventing countless causes of corruption every day. “But he rides on horseback.” And what of that? So the other is carried on a couch. And what is hardest of all: the other is seen by no one in his dissolving and decay, but has his coffin for a veil; this man goes about everywhere with his evil smell, carrying a dead soul around in his body as in a tomb.

If one could only once see the soul of a man who lives in luxury and vice, you would realize that it is far better to lie bound in a grave than to be riveted by the chains of our sins, and to have a stone laid over you than that heavy lid of insensibility. That is why, above all, it is right for the friends of these dead men, since they are past feeling, to come to Jesus on their behalf, as Mary did then in the case of Lazarus. Though he “stinks,” though he has been “dead four days,” do not despair. Come near, and first remove the stone. For then you will see him lying as in a tomb, and bound in his grave clothes.

And if you like, let it be one of the great and distinguished men whom we bring before you. No, do not be afraid, for I will give the example without a name. Or rather, even if I mentioned the name, there would be nothing to fear even so. For who is ever afraid of a dead man? Whatever one does, he stays dead, and the dead cannot hurt the living, either a little or a lot.

Let us look, then, at their head, bound up. For since they are always drunk, all their senses are closed and bound up, just as the dead are by their many wrappings and grave clothes. And if you look at their hands too, you will see these bound to their belly, like the hands of the dead, and tied round not with grave clothes but, what is far worse, with the bands of greed. Greed does not give them leave to stretch out their hands to give alms or to do any other good deed of the kind; rather, she makes them more useless than the hands of the dead. Would you like to see their feet bound together as well? See them tied round with worries, and so never able to run to the house of God.

Have you seen the dead? Now look at the embalmer too. Who, then, is the embalmer of these men? The devil. He wraps them up carefully and no longer lets the man look like a man, but like a dry log. For where there are no eyes, no hands, no feet, nor anything else of the kind, how can such a one look like a man? In the same way we can see their soul, too, wrapped up in bands, more a statue than a soul.

Since, then, they are in a kind of senseless state, having turned into dead men, let us go to Jesus on their behalf. Let us beg him to raise them up; let us take away the stone; let us loosen the grave clothes. For if you take away the stone — that is, their insensibility to their own miseries — you will soon be able to bring them out of the tomb as well; and once you have brought them out, you will more easily free them from their bonds. Then Christ will know you, when you have risen, when you are unbound; then he will call you even to his own supper. So as many of you as are friends of Christ, as many as are disciples, as many as love the one who has died, come to Jesus and pray. For even if his foul smell is great and ever so strong, we his friends should not abandon him even so, but come near all the more, just as the sisters of Lazarus did then. And we should not stop interceding, pleading and begging, until we have received him alive.

For if we manage our own affairs and those of our neighbors in this way, we will also quickly attain the life to come. May we all attain it, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen.