Homily 13 — First Corinthians 4, verses 10 to 17

“We are fools for Christ’s sake” — for from this point I must take up my discourse again — “but you are wise in Christ. We are weak, but you are strong. You have glory, but we have dishonor.” [a]

He had filled his words with a great deal of severity, which strikes a sharper blow than any direct charge. He had said, “You have reigned as kings without us,” and “God has put us apostles on display last of all, like men doomed to death.” Now, by what comes next, he shows how they are “doomed to death,” saying: “We are fools, and weak, and despised; we hunger, and thirst, and are naked, and are beaten, and have no settled home; and we toil, working with our own hands.” These were the very marks of genuine teachers and apostles. The others, on the contrary, prided themselves on the opposite things: on wisdom, glory, wealth, and reputation.

So, wanting to take down their conceit, and to show them that far from taking credit for these things they ought rather to be ashamed of them, he first mocks them, saying, “You have reigned as kings without us.” It is as if he had said: “My verdict is that the present is not a time of honor or of glory, the kind of things you are enjoying, but of persecution and insult, such as we are suffering. But if that is not so — if this is rather the time for reward — then, as far as I can see,” (he says this in irony) “you, the disciples, have for your part become nothing less than kings. But we, the teachers and apostles, who above all have a right to receive the reward, have not only fallen far behind you, but, like men doomed to death — that is, like condemned convicts — we spend our whole lives in dishonor, and dangers, and hunger. Yes, we are insulted as fools, driven from place to place, and made to endure everything unbearable.”

He said these things so that he might lead them to consider this as well: that they should eagerly seek the condition of the apostles — their dangers and their indignities, not their honors and glories. For it is these, and not the others, that the good news requires. But he does not say this directly, so as not to make himself disagreeable to them. Instead, he takes up this rebuke in a way that is characteristic of him. If he had spoken to them directly, he would have put it like this: “You are mistaken, you have been led astray, and you have wandered far from the apostles’ way of teaching. For every apostle and servant of Christ must be counted a fool and must live in affliction and dishonor. That is in fact our state, while you are in the opposite one.”

But put that way, his words might have offended them still more, since they would have been nothing but praise of the apostles; and they might have made them fiercer, blamed as they were for laziness and empty glory and luxury. So he does not frame what he says in this way, but in another, more striking and less offensive. That is why he goes on as he does, saying in irony, “But you are strong and honored.” If he had not used irony, he would have said something like this: “It is not possible for one man to be counted foolish and another wise, one strong and another weak, since the good news makes the same demand of both. If it were in the nature of things for one to be this and another that, there might perhaps be some reason in what you say. But as things are, no one is permitted to be counted wise, or honored, or to be free of dangers. Otherwise it necessarily follows that you are preferred to us in God’s sight — you the disciples before us the teachers — and that after all our endless hardships.” If that is too outrageous for anyone to say, then it remains for you to make our condition your aim.

“And let no one,” he says, “think that I am speaking only of the past.”

Verse 11: “Up to this very hour we both hunger and thirst, and are naked.”

Do you see that the whole life of Christians must be like this, and not just a day or two? For though a wrestler who wins a single bout is crowned, if he then takes a fall he is not crowned again.

“And hunger” — this is aimed at the luxurious. “And are beaten” — at those who are puffed up. “And have no settled home” — for we are driven from place to place. “And are naked” — at the rich.

Verse 12: “And we labor.”

This is now aimed at the false apostles, who endure neither toil nor danger, and yet take the fruits for themselves. “But we are not like that,” he says. “Along with our dangers from outside, we also wear ourselves out with constant labor. And what is more, no one can say that we resent these things, for we repay those who treat us this way with the opposite. This, I say, is the main point — not that we suffer harm, for that is common to everyone, but that we suffer it without dejection or resentment. Far from being dejected, we are full of exultation. And the clear proof of it is that we repay those who wrong us with the opposite of what they do to us.”

That they really did this, listen to what follows. [b]

Verses 12 and 13: “When we are reviled, we bless; when we are persecuted, we endure; when we are slandered, we plead with them. We have become like the refuse of the world.”

This is what “fools for Christ’s sake” means. For a man who is wronged and neither avenges himself nor even gets angry is counted a fool by the pagans, and dishonored and weak as well. And so as not to make his words too hard to swallow by tying the sufferings he was describing to their own city, what does he say? “We have become the refuse,” not “of your city,” but “of the world.” And again, “the scum of all people” — not of you alone, but of everyone.

When he speaks of Christ’s providential care, he passes over the earth, the heavens, the whole creation, and it is the cross he brings forward. In the same way, when he wants to draw them to himself, he hurries past all his miracles and speaks of the sufferings he bore for their sake. And this is our own way too: when someone wrongs us and looks down on us, we bring forward whatever we have endured for him.

“The scum of all people, even until now.” This is a forceful blow he dealt at the end: “of all people.” “Not only of the persecutors,” he says, “but also of those for whom we suffer these things. Oh, how very much I owe them!” [c]

These are the words of a man deeply in earnest — not that he himself was hurt, but he wanted to make them feel that one who had countless complaints to make was even greeting them kindly. That is why Christ commanded us to bear insults with gentleness: so that we might train ourselves in a lofty kind of virtue, and also put the other party to greater shame. For you do not produce that effect as well by reproach as by silence.

Verse 14: Then, since he saw that the blow was hard to bear, he quickly heals it, saying, “I do not write these things to shame you, but to admonish you as my beloved children.” “It is not to put you to shame,” he says, “that I say these things.”

The very thing he had done by his words, he says he has not done. Or rather, he admits that he did it, but not with a bad and spiteful intention. And this way of soothing is the very best: to say what we have to say, and then add an explanation of our motive. He could not keep silent, since they would then have stayed uncorrected; but once he had spoken, it would have been harsh to leave the wound untended. So together with his severity he explains himself. Far from undoing the work of the knife, this rather makes it sink deeper, while it eases the full pain of the wound. For when a person is told that these things are said not in reproach but in love, he accepts correction all the more readily.

Yet even here there is great severity, and a strong appeal to their sense of shame, in that he did not say, “as your teacher,” nor “as an apostle,” nor “as one who has you for his disciples” — which would have suited his claims on them well — but “as my beloved children I admonish you.” And not simply “children,” but children dearly longed for. “Forgive me,” he says. “If anything unpleasant has been said, it all comes from love.” [d]

And he did not say, “I rebuke,” but “I admonish.” Now who would not bear with a father who is grieving, and who is in the very act of giving good advice? That is why he did not say this before, but only after he had struck the blow.

“What then?” someone might say. “Don’t other teachers spare us?”

“I do not say that. But they do not carry their forbearance so far.” He did not come right out with this, however, but hinted at it through their positions and titles, using the words “tutor” and “father.”

Verse 15: “For though you have ten thousand tutors in Christ,” he says, “yet you do not have many fathers.”

He is not setting forth his rank here, but the overwhelming greatness of his love. So he did not wound the other teachers either, since he adds the words “in Christ.” Rather, he soothed them: he called those among them who were zealous and hardworking not hangers-on but tutors. At the same time he showed his own anxious care for the Corinthians. That is why he did not say, “yet not many teachers,” but “not many fathers.” So far was he from wanting to set down any title of rank, or to argue that they had received the greater benefit from him. He grants the others the great pains they had taken for the Corinthians — for that is the force of the word “tutor” — but he keeps the first place in love for himself, for that, again, is the force of the word “father.” [e]

And he does not merely say, “No one loves you as much as I do,” a claim that could be disputed; he also brings forward a real fact. What is it? “For in Christ Jesus I fathered you through the good news.” “In Christ Jesus”: I do not credit this to myself. Here again he strikes at those who put their own names on their teaching. “For you,” he says, “are the seal of my apostleship.” And again, “I planted”; and in this place, “I fathered you.” He did not say, “I preached the word,” but “I fathered you,” using the language of natural kinship, for his one concern at that moment was to show the love he had for them. “Others did take you over from me and led you further on; but that you are believers at all came about through me.”

So, since he had said “as children,” he also brings forward the fact itself, so that you would not suppose the expression was flattery.

Verse 16: “I urge you, then, be imitators of me, as I also am of Christ.” [f]

Astonishing! How great is our teacher’s boldness of speech! How perfectly finished the portrait must be, when he can even urge others to copy it! He does not do this out of self-exaltation, but to show that virtue is an easy thing. It is as if he had said: “Do not tell me, ‘I cannot imitate you. You are a teacher, and a great one.’ The distance between me and you is not as great as the distance between Christ and me — and yet I have imitated him.”

Writing to the Ephesians, on the other hand, he makes no mention of himself at all, but leads them all straight to the one point: “Be imitators of God,” he says (Ephesians 5, verse 1). But here, since his words were addressed to weak people, he puts himself in along the way.

Besides this, he also shows that it is possible even in this way to imitate Christ. For whoever copies a perfect impression of the seal copies the original model.

Let us see, then, how he followed Christ. This imitation needs no length of time and no skill, only a firm resolve. If we go into a painter’s studio, we will not be able to copy the portrait, even if we look at it ten thousand times. But we can copy Paul simply by hearing. Would you like us, then, to bring the panel before you and sketch Paul’s way of life for you? Very well, let it be brought out: that picture far brighter than all the portraits of the emperors. For its material is not boards glued together, or canvas stretched out. Its material is the work of God, being as it is a soul and a body: a soul, the work of God and not of human beings, and a body likewise.

Did you applaud just now? No, this is not the time for applause; that comes with what follows — the time for applauding, I say, and for imitating too. For so far we have only the material, which is common to everyone without exception, since one soul does not differ from another in being a soul. It is the resolve of the heart that shows the difference. One body does not differ from another in being a body — Paul’s body is like everyone else’s — and it is only dangers that make one body more brilliant than another. So it is with the soul as well.

Suppose, then, that our panel is Paul’s soul. Not long before, this panel lay covered with soot and full of spiderwebs, for nothing can be worse than blasphemy. But he came who transforms all things, and he saw that the lines had been drawn this way not through laziness or sloth, but through inexperience, and because Paul did not have the colors of true godliness. He had zeal, but the colors were not there, for he did not have “the zeal that is according to knowledge.” So he gave him the color of the truth — that is, grace — and in a moment Paul displayed the image of the King. Once he had the colors and had learned what he did not know, he did not wait at all, but at once showed himself a most excellent artist. First he shows the King’s head, by preaching Christ; then the rest of the body as well, the body of a complete Christian life. [g]

Painters, as we know, shut themselves in and do all their work with great precision and in quiet, opening the doors to no one. But this man set out his panel in full view of the world, in the midst of opposition from every side, uproar, and turmoil; and even in such conditions he worked out this royal image and was not hindered. That is why he said, “We have been made a spectacle to the world.” In the midst of earth and sea and sky, of the whole inhabited world, and of the world both of the senses and of things known to the mind alone, he was drawing that portrait of his.

Would you like to see its other parts too, from the head downward? Or would you rather we carry our description upward from below? Then look at a statue of gold — or rather of something more precious than gold, one fit to stand in heaven. It is not fastened with lead, or set in one spot, but hurries from Jerusalem all the way to Illyricum (Romans 15, verse 19), sets out for Spain, and is carried as though on wings over every part of the world. For what could be more “beautiful” than these “feet,” which visited the whole earth under the sun? The prophet too proclaimed this same “beauty” long ago, saying, “How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news of peace!” (Isaiah 52, verse 7).

Have you seen how lovely the feet are? Would you like to see the breast too? Come, let me show you this as well. You will find it far more splendid than these beautiful feet — yes, more splendid even than the breast of the ancient lawgiver himself. Moses carried tablets of stone, but this man had Christ himself within him; it was the very image of the King that he carried. For this reason he was more awe-inspiring than the mercy seat and the cherubim. No such voice went out from them as went out from here. From them it spoke with people mostly about things of the senses; from Paul’s tongue, on the other hand, it spoke of the things above the heavens. Again, from the mercy seat it gave its oracles to the Jews alone; from here, to the whole world. There it spoke through lifeless things; here, through a soul alive with virtue.

This mercy seat was brighter even than the sky. It did not shine with a variety of stars or with the rays of the sun; the very Sun of righteousness was there, and from there he sent out his rays. Again, in this sky of ours a cloud passing over now and then makes it gloomy; but no such storm ever swept across that breast. Or rather, many storms did sweep over it, and often; yet they did not darken the light. Instead, in the midst of trials and dangers the light shone out. That is why he himself, when bound with his chain, kept crying out, “The word of God is not bound” (Second Timothy 2, verse 9). So continually, by means of that tongue, it was sending out its rays. No fear, no danger made that breast gloomy. Perhaps the breast seems to outdo the feet. But both are beautiful: the feet as feet, and this as a breast. [j]

Would you like to see the belly too, with its own beauty? Listen to what he says about it: “If food makes my brother stumble, I will never eat meat as long as the world stands” (First Corinthians 8, verse 13). “It is good neither to eat meat nor to drink wine, nor to do anything by which your brother stumbles, or is made to fall, or is made weak” (Romans 14, verse 21). “Food is for the belly, and the belly for food” (First Corinthians 6, verse 13). What could be more beautiful of its kind than this belly, trained like this to be quiet, taught every kind of self-control, knowing how to go hungry and to starve, and to endure thirst as well? Like a well-trained horse with a golden bridle, it too walked with measured steps, having conquered the demands of nature. For it was Christ who walked in it. And since it was so self-controlled, it is quite plain that the whole body of vice besides had been done away with.

Would you like to see the hands too — the hands he has now? Or would you rather look first at their former wickedness? “Entering house after house,” this very man “dragged off men and women” (Acts 8, verse 3) not long before, with hands that were not a man’s but some fierce wild beast’s. But as soon as he had received the colors of the truth and spiritual experience, these were no longer the hands of a man, but spiritual hands, bound day after day with chains. They never struck anyone, but they were struck times beyond counting. Once even a viper showed reverence to those hands (Acts 28, verses 3 and 5); for they were no longer the hands of a human being, and so it did not even fasten on them. [k]

And would you like to see his back as well, which matches the other members? Listen to what he says about this too: “Five times I received from the Jews forty lashes minus one. Three times I was beaten with rods; once I was stoned; three times I was shipwrecked; a night and a day I have spent adrift at sea” (Second Corinthians 11, verses 24 and 25).

But so that we too do not fall into an endless deep, and get carried far and wide by going over each of his members one by one, come, let us leave the body and look at another kind of beauty: the beauty that came from his clothing. Even demons showed reverence to it, and that is why they fled, and diseases took flight. Wherever Paul happened to show himself, they all withdrew and got out of the way, as if the champion of the whole world had appeared. Men who have often been wounded in war shudder if they see even some part of the armor of the one who wounded them; in much the same way the demons were stunned at the sight of mere “handkerchiefs.” [l]

Where now are the rich, and those who think so highly of their wealth? Where are those who count up their titles and their costly robes? If they compare themselves with these things, everything they own will look to them like clay and dirt. And why do I speak of clothes and golden ornaments? If someone gave me the whole world to possess, I would count Paul’s mere fingernail more powerful than all that dominion; his poverty more than all luxury; his dishonor more than all glory; his nakedness more than all riches. No ease would I compare with the blows that sacred head received; no royal crown with the stones he was the target of.

This is the crown we should long for, beloved. And if there is no persecution now, let us prepare ourselves in the meantime. For the man we are speaking of did not become glorious by persecutions alone. He also said, “I discipline my body” (First Corinthians 9, verse 27), and in this one can excel without persecutions. And he urged us not to “make provision for the flesh, to satisfy its cravings” (Romans 13, verse 14). And again, “If we have food and clothing, let us be content with these” (First Timothy 6, verse 8). For these purposes we have no need of persecutions. He tried to restrain the wealthy too, saying, “Those who want to be rich fall into temptation” (First Timothy 6, verse 9).

If we too train ourselves this way, then when we enter the contest we will be crowned; and even if no persecution lies before us, we will receive many rewards for these things. But if we pamper the body and live the life of a pig, even in peacetime we will often sin and be put to shame. [m]

Do you not see whom we are wrestling against? The bodiless powers. How, then, being flesh ourselves, are we to get the better of them? If a man wrestling against men needs to be careful about his diet, much more does one who wrestles against evil spirits. But when, on top of being well fed in the flesh, we are also chained to wealth, how are we to overcome our opponents? For wealth is a chain — a heavy chain for those who do not know how to use it; a savage and inhuman tyrant, who gives all his orders with abuse to those who serve him. Yet if we are willing, we will depose this bitter tyranny from its throne and make it obey us instead of commanding us. How will this happen? By distributing our wealth to everyone. For as long as it stands against each of us alone, it carries out all its evil purposes, like a robber in a lonely place. But when we bring it out among others, it will master us no more, since it will be held in chains on every side, by everyone.

I say these things not because riches are a sin. The sin lies in not distributing them to the poor, and in using them wrongly. For God made nothing evil, but everything “very good,” so riches too are good — that is, if they do not master their owners, and if our neighbors’ needs are relieved by them. A light is not good if, instead of scattering the darkness, it makes it deeper; and I would not call that wealth which, instead of doing away with poverty, increases it. The rich man seeks not to take from others but to help others; the one who seeks to receive from others is no longer rich, but poor in the fullest sense. So it is not riches that are evil, but the needy mind that turns wealth into poverty. [n]

People like these are more wretched than those who beg in the narrow streets, carrying a beggar’s bag and crippled in body. Yes, I say, those beggars in their rags are not as miserable as these people in silks and shining clothes. Those who strut about the marketplace are more to be pitied than those who haunt the street corners, go into the courtyards, cry out from their cellars, and ask for alms. For the beggars, for their part, speak words of praise to God, and words of mercy and sound moral teaching. That is why we pity them, reach out our hands to them, and never find fault with them. But as for those who are rich to a bad purpose, cruelty and inhumanity, devouring greed and satanic craving are in the words they belch out. That is why everyone detests them and laughs them to scorn.

Just consider: of the two, which does everyone count more disgraceful — to beg from the rich, or from the poor? Everyone, I suppose, sees it at once: from the poor. Now if you look closely, this is what the rich do, for they do not dare approach those richer than themselves. Those who beg, on the other hand, beg from the wealthy. One beggar does not ask alms of another, but of a rich man; but the rich man tears the poor to pieces.

Again, tell me: which is more dignified — to receive from people who are willing and who feel grateful to you, or to force and harass people who are unwilling? Clearly, not to trouble the unwilling. But the rich do this too. For the poor receive from willing hands, from people who feel grateful to them; but the rich take from people who are unwilling and resist, and that is a sign of greater poverty. If no one would even want to go to a dinner unless the host felt obliged to the guest, how can it be honorable to take a share of anyone’s property by force? Is it not for this very reason that we get out of the way of dogs and run from their barking — because by their constant pestering they simply drive us off? Our rich men do this too.

“But it is more dignified for fear to go along with the gift.” No, this is the most disgraceful thing of all. Who can be as much a laughingstock as the man who moves heaven and earth over his gains? Even to dogs we often throw, out of fear, whatever we happen to be holding. Which, I ask again, is more disgraceful: that a man in rags should beg, or a man who wears silk? So when a rich man courts old people and poor people to get hold of their property — and that when they have children — what pardon can he deserve?

Further, if you like, let us examine the very words: what the rich beggars say, and what the poor ones say. What, then, does the poor man say? That the one who gives alms will never be reduced to short measure; that he is giving from what is God’s; that God loves humankind and repays more abundantly. All these are words of sound moral teaching, of encouragement, and of counsel. For he urges you to look to the Lord, and he takes away your fear of poverty to come. One can find much instruction in the words of those who ask for alms. [o]

But what kind of words do the rich speak? Why, the words of pigs and dogs and wolves and every other wild beast. Some of them talk endlessly about banquets and dishes and delicacies, wines of every kind, perfumes, clothes, and all the rest of that extravagance. Others talk about interest on money and about loans. They draw up accounts and swell the mass of debt to an unbearable size, as though it had begun in the time of the debtor’s father or grandfather; and they rob one man of his house, another of his field, another of his slave and of everything he has.

And why speak of their wills, which are written in blood instead of ink? Whenever they see someone who owns a little property, they either surround him with some unbearable danger or bewitch him with a few paltry promises, and so persuade him to pass over all his relatives — often when those relatives are perishing in poverty — and to write their own names in instead. Is there any madness, any ferocity of wild beasts of any kind, that these things do not put in the shade?

So I beg you, let us flee all such wealth as this, disgraceful as it is and full of deaths, and let us gain the wealth that is spiritual, and seek the treasures in heaven. Those who possess these are the rich, the truly wealthy, enjoying good things — all things — both here and there. For whoever is willing to be poor according to God’s word has everyone’s house opened to him: everyone will contribute from his own goods to the one who has given up owning anything for God’s sake. But whoever insists on holding even a little by injustice shuts everyone’s doors against himself. [p]

So that we may attain both the good things here and those that are there, let us choose the wealth that cannot be taken away, that immortal abundance. May God grant us all to obtain it, through the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom be glory, power, and honor to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.