Homily 3 — Second Corinthians 1, verses 12 to 22

“For our boast is this, the testimony of our conscience: that in simplicity and sincerity, not in fleshly wisdom but in the grace of God, we have conducted ourselves in the world.” [a]

Here again he opens up to us yet another source of comfort, and no small one — or rather, an exceedingly great one, and well suited to lift up a mind that is sinking under dangers. He had said, “God comforted us” and “God delivered us,” and had credited everything to God’s mercies and to their prayers. So that he would not make his hearer careless by this, relying only on God’s mercy and on the prayers of others, he shows that they themselves had contributed no small share of their own. In fact he had shown as much even before, when he said, “For as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so our comfort also abounds” (verse 5). But here he is speaking of another good work, one that was properly their own. What is it? That, he says, we conduct ourselves everywhere in the world with a conscience that is pure and free of guile. And this goes no small way toward our encouragement and comfort — or rather, not merely toward comfort, but toward something far greater than comfort: toward our boasting.

He said this to teach them, too, not to sink down in their afflictions, but, if they have a pure conscience, even to take pride in them. At the same time he was quietly, though gently, hitting at the false apostles. In the former letter he says, “Christ sent me to preach the good news, not in wisdom of words, so that the cross of Christ would not be made of no effect” (First Corinthians 1, verse 17), and, “so that your faith would not rest on the wisdom of men, but on the power of God” (First Corinthians 2, verse 5). So here too: “Not in wisdom, but in the grace of Christ.”

By using the words “not in wisdom,” he also hinted at something else — that is, “not in deceit” — and here too he was striking at the learning of the pagans.

“For our boast,” he says, “is this, the testimony of our conscience.” That is, our conscience has nothing to condemn us for, as though we were being persecuted for evil deeds. For though we suffer countless horrors, though we are shot at from every side and stand in danger, it is enough for our comfort — or rather, not only for our comfort but even for our crowning — that our conscience is pure and testifies to us that we suffer as we do not for any wrongdoing, but for what pleases God: for virtue’s sake, for the sake of heavenly wisdom, for the salvation of the many. That earlier comfort came from God; but this one they contributed themselves, from the purity of their life. That is why he calls it their boast: it was the achievement of their own virtue.

What, then, is this boast, and what does our conscience testify to us? “That in sincerity” — that is, with nothing deceitful, no hypocrisy, no pretense, no flattery, no ambush or guile, nor anything else of the kind, but in complete frankness, in simplicity, in truth, in a pure spirit free of malice, in a guileless mind, with nothing hidden, no festering sore. “Not in fleshly wisdom” — that is, not with evil cunning, not with wickedness, not with cleverness of words, not with webs of sophistries; for this is what he means by “fleshly wisdom.” The very thing they prided themselves on so greatly, he disowns and pushes aside. He shows very fully that it is no worthy ground for boasting, and that he not only does not seek it, but even rejects it and is ashamed of it.

“But in the grace of God we have conducted ourselves in the world.” What does “in the grace of God” mean? It means displaying the wisdom that comes from him and the power he has given us: by the signs we worked, and by overcoming wise men, orators, philosophers, kings, and whole peoples, unlearned as we are, and bringing with us nothing of the wisdom of those outside. It was no ordinary comfort and boast for them to know in themselves that it was not human power they had used, but that they had achieved every success by God’s grace.

“In the world”: so not in Corinth only, but in every part of the world.

“And more abundantly toward you.” What was “more abundantly toward you”? “In the grace of God we conducted ourselves.” For we showed signs and wonders among you, and greater strictness, and a blameless life. He calls these, too, the grace of God, crediting even his own good works to it. For in Corinth he even ran past the finish line, preaching the good news free of charge, because he was sparing their weakness.

Verse 13: “For we write nothing else to you than what you read, or even acknowledge.”

He had said great things about himself and seemed to be bearing witness to himself, which is an offensive thing. So once again he calls on them as witnesses of what he says. Let no one think, he says, that what I say is a boastful flourish of the pen. We are telling you what you yourselves know, and that we are not lying, you more than anyone else can testify. When you read, you recognize that what you know we do in our actions, we also say in our writings. Your own testimony does not contradict our letters; the knowledge you had of us before agrees with what you read.

Verse 14: “As you also have acknowledged us in part.”

Your knowledge of us, he says, does not come from hearsay, but from actual experience. He added the words “in part” out of humility. This is his habit whenever necessity forces him to say something lofty — for he never does so otherwise: he wants to check again quickly the pride that could rise from what he has said.

“And I hope you will acknowledge it even to the end.”

Do you see again how he draws pledges for the future from the past — and not from the past only, but also from the power of God? He did not state it flatly, but cast the whole thing on God and on his hope in him. [e]

“That we are your boast, just as you also are ours, in the day of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Here he cuts at the root of the envy his words might stir up, by making them sharers and partners in the glory of his good works: “These things do not stay with us; they pass over to you as well, and back again from you to us.” He had praised himself, had produced proof from the past, and had given security for the future. So that his hearers would not hold it against him as proud talk, or, as I have said, be swept along into envy, he makes the rejoicing a shared one and declares that this crown of praise is theirs. For if, he says, we have shown ourselves to be such, our praise is your glory; just as when you too are found approved, we rejoice and leap for joy and are crowned.

Here again he shows his great humility in what he says. He levels his words to theirs, not like a master lecturing his disciples, but like a disciple speaking to fellow disciples of his own rank. And notice how he lifts them on high and fills them with philosophy, sending them on to that Day. Do not tell me, he says, about present things — the reproaches, the insults, the mockery of the many. The things here are no great matter, neither the good nor the painful, neither the mockery nor the praise that comes from people. But remember, I beg you, that day of fear and trembling, on which all things are revealed. For then we will boast in you, and you in us: you, when you are seen to have had such teachers, who teach no merely human doctrine, do not live in wickedness, and give no one a handle against them; and we, when we are seen to have had such disciples — not swayed in merely human ways, not shaken, but accepting everything with a ready mind, and not led astray by sophistries from any quarter. Even now this is plain to those who have understanding, but then it will be plain to all.

So even if we are afflicted now, we have this consolation, and no light one: the one our conscience gives us now, and the full disclosure itself then. For now our conscience knows that we do everything by the grace of God, as you also know and will know; but then all people as well will learn both our doings and yours, and will see us glorified through each other. He does not want to appear to be the only one who gains luster from this boasting, so he gives them a reason to boast as well, and leads them away from their present distresses.

He did the same with the comfort, when he said, “We are comforted for your sakes” (verse 6); and he does it here too, saying, ‘We boast on your account, as you also do on ours.’ Everywhere he makes them partakers of everything: of his comfort, his sufferings, his preservation. For he credits his preservation to their prayers: “God delivered us,” he says, “you also helping together by prayer.” In the same way he makes the boasting shared too. As he says in that place, “Knowing that as you are partakers of the sufferings, so also of the comfort,” so here too: “We are your boast, as you also are ours.”

Verse 15: “And in this confidence I intended to come to you before.” What confidence? “The confidence of relying greatly on you, boasting over you, being your boast, loving you greatly, being conscious of nothing evil in myself, being sure that everything with us is spiritual, and having you as witnesses of this.”

“I intended to come to you, and by way of you to pass on into Macedonia.” And yet he had promised the opposite in his former letter, where he says: “Now I will come to you when I have passed through Macedonia, for I am passing through Macedonia” (First Corinthians 16, verse 5). How is it, then, that here he says the opposite? He does not say the opposite. Far from it! It is contrary to what he wrote, yes, but not contrary to what he wished.

That is why here he did not say, ‘I wrote that I would pass by way of you into Macedonia,’ but, “I intended.” “Though I did not write it that way, still I greatly desired, and ‘intended’ even before, to come to you. So far was I from wanting to be later than my promise that I would gladly have come even before it.” “So that you might have a second benefit.” What is a “second benefit”? “That you might have a double benefit: the one from my letters, and the one from my presence.” By “benefit” he here means pleasure.

Verses 16 and 17: “And by way of you to pass into Macedonia, and to come again from Macedonia to you, and by you to be sent on my way toward Judea. When I intended this, then, did I show fickleness?”

In what follows he now directly removes the charge that arose from his delay and absence. What he says amounts to this: “I intended to come to you.” “Why, then, did I not come? Was it because I am light-minded and changeable?” For that is what “did I show fickleness?” means. Not at all. Why, then? “Because the things I plan, I do not plan according to the flesh.” What does “not according to the flesh” mean? I do not plan in a fleshly way. [h]

Verse 17: “So that with me there should be the yes, yes and the no, no.” But even this is obscure. What, then, is he saying? The fleshly man — that is, the one who is riveted to present things and constantly busy with them, and who is outside the sphere of the Spirit’s influence — has the power to go everywhere and to wander wherever he likes. But the one who is the Spirit’s servant, who is led and led about by him, cannot be master of his own plans everywhere, since he has made them depend on the authority that comes from there. It goes with him as with a trusted servant whose movements are always governed by his master’s orders, who has no power over himself and cannot rest even a little: he makes some promise to his fellow servants, and then, because his master wants it otherwise, he fails to keep his promise.

This, then, is what he means by “I do not plan according to the flesh.” I am not outside the Spirit’s governance, nor free to go where I please. I am under lordship and commands — the Comforter’s — and by his decrees I am led and led about. That is why I could not come: it was not the Spirit’s will. The same thing often happened in Acts: when he had planned to go to one place, the Spirit told him to go to another. So it was not from lightness — that is, from fickleness — that I did not come, but because, being subject to the Spirit, I obeyed him.

Did you notice his usual line of reasoning once again? The very thing by which they thought to prove that he “planned according to the flesh” — his not keeping his promise — he uses as the special proof that he planned according to the Spirit, and that the opposite would have been planning according to the flesh.

Someone says: “What then? Was it not with the Spirit that he made the promise he made?” Not at all. For I have already said that Paul did not know beforehand everything that was going to happen or everything that would be best. That is why he says in the former letter, “so that you may send me on my way wherever I go” (First Corinthians 16, verse 6). He had this very fear: that having said “into Judea,” he might then be forced to go somewhere else. But now, when his plan had been thwarted, he says it: “And by you to be sent on my way toward Judea.” What belonged to his love — his coming to them — he states; but what had nothing to do with them, his going on from them into Judea, he does not add definitely. Once he had been proved wrong, however, he afterward says it here boldly: “toward Judea.”

And this too happened for good, so that none of them would think more highly of the apostles than they deserved (Acts 14, verse 13). For if, in the face of all this, people wanted to sacrifice bulls to them, what impiety would they not have been driven to, if the apostles had not given many instances of human weakness? And why be surprised that he did not know everything that was going to happen, when often he does not know even in his prayers what is best?

“For,” he says, “we do not know what we should pray for as we ought.” And so that he would not seem to be merely speaking modestly, he not only says this, but gives an instance where in his prayers he did not know what was best. Where was that? When he begged to be freed from his trials, saying: “There was given to me a thorn in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to beat me. Concerning this thing I begged the Lord three times. And he said to me, ‘My grace is enough for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness’” (Second Corinthians 12, verses 7 to 9). Do you see how he did not know how to ask for what was best, and so, although he asked often, he did not receive it?

Verse 18: “But as God is faithful, our word to you was not yes and no.”

He skillfully overturns an objection as it rises. For someone might say: “If after making a promise you have put off coming, and with you yes is not yes and no is not no, but what you say now you take back afterward, as you did in the case of this journey — then woe to us, if all this is true of the preaching too!” So that they would not have these thoughts and be troubled by them, he says, “But as God is faithful, our word to you was not yes and no.” This, he says, was not the case with the preaching, but only with our travels and journeys; whatever we have said in our preaching stands firm and unshakable. (For here he calls his preaching his “word.”) Then he brings a proof of this that cannot be contradicted, by referring everything to God. What he says is this: “The promise of my coming was my own, and I made that promise on my own. But the preaching is not my own, nor any man’s, but God’s; and what is of God cannot possibly lie.” That is why he said, “God is faithful,” that is, “true.” “So do not mistrust what comes from him, for there is nothing human in it.”

Since he had said “word,” he adds what follows to explain what kind of word he means. What kind, then, is it? [k]

Verse 19: “For the Son of God,” he says, “who was preached among you by us — by me and Silvanus and Timothy — was not yes and no.”

He brings in the company of the teachers for this reason: to give credibility to the testimony from that side as well, through those who taught it, and not only through those who heard it. And yet these men were disciples; but in his modesty he counts them in the rank of teachers. But what does “was not yes and no” mean? I have never, he says, taken back what I said before in the preaching. My message to you was not now this, now that. For that does not belong to faith, but to a wandering mind.

“But in him was the yes.” That is, just as I said, the word stands unshaken and firm.

Verse 20: “For however many are the promises of God, in him is the yes, and in him the Amen, to the glory of God through us.”

What does “however many are the promises of God” mean? The preaching promised many things, and these many things they offered and preached. They spoke of being raised again, of being taken up, of incorruption, and of those great rewards and good things beyond words. As for these promises, then, he says that they stand immovable, and in them there is no yes and no. That is, what was spoken was not true at one time and false at another, as happened with my being with you, but it is always true.

First, then, he contends for the articles of the faith and the word about Christ, saying, “My word” and my preaching “was not yes and no”; next, for the promises: “For however many are the promises of God, in him is the yes.” But if the things he promised are sure, and he will certainly give them, much more is he himself sure, and the word about him; and it cannot be said that he is now, and now is not. He always is, and is the same.

But what does “in him is the yes, and the Amen” mean? He means what will certainly be. For the promises have their being and their fulfillment in him, not in a man. So do not be afraid. It is not a man, that you should distrust him; it is God, who both spoke and fulfills. “To the glory of God through us.” What does “to his glory through us” mean? That he fulfills them through us — that is, through his benefits toward us — to his glory; for that is what “to the glory of God” means.

But if they are for the glory of God, they will certainly come to pass. He will not think lightly of his own glory, even if he did think lightly of our salvation. But as it is, he does not think lightly of our salvation either, both because he loves humankind exceedingly and because our salvation is bound up with the glory that comes to him from these things. So if the promises are for his glory, our salvation will certainly follow as well. He comes back to this again and again in the letter to the Ephesians, saying, “for the upholding of his glory” (Ephesians 1, verse 14); everywhere he lays this down and shows that this outcome must follow. And that is why he says here that God’s promises do not lie: they not only save us, but also glorify him. So do not dwell on the fact that they were promised through us, and doubt for that reason. They are not fulfilled by us, but by him. Yes, and the promises came from him too; for we did not speak our own words to you, but his.

Verses 21 and 22: “Now he who establishes us with you in Christ, and anointed us, is God; who also sealed us, and gave us the down payment of the Spirit in our hearts.”

Again, from the past he makes the future sure. For if it is he who establishes us in Christ — that is, who does not let us be shaken from our faith in Christ — and he who anointed us and gave the Spirit in our hearts, how will he not give us the things to come?

If he gave the first principles and the foundations, the root and the spring — that is, the true knowledge of him and a share in the Spirit — how will he not give what comes from these? If these were given for the sake of those, much more will he supply those. And if he gave these to people who were his enemies, much more, now that they have been made his friends, will he “freely give” them those. That is why he did not say simply “the Spirit,” but named it a “down payment,” so that from this you might have good hope of the whole as well. If he did not intend to give the whole, he would never have chosen to give the down payment and waste it, to no purpose and with no result.

And notice Paul’s candor. Why need I say, he says, that the truth of the promises does not depend on us? Even your standing firm and unwavering does not depend on us; this too is from God. “For,” he says, “he who establishes us is God.” It is not we who strengthen you; we too need the one who establishes. So let no one imagine that the preaching is at risk because it rests with us. He has taken the whole on himself; he has cared for the whole.

And what do “anointed” and “sealed” mean? He gave the Spirit, by whom he did both these things, making us at once prophets and priests and kings; for in ancient times these three kinds of people were anointed. But now we have not just one of these dignities, but all three, and in a higher degree. We are to enjoy a kingdom; we are made priests by offering our bodies as a sacrifice — for he says, “Present your members a living sacrifice to God” — and at the same time we are made prophets too, for the things that “eye has not seen, nor ear heard” (First Corinthians 2, verse 9) have been revealed to us.

And there is another way too in which we become kings: if we are willing to master our unruly thoughts. That such a man is a king, and more of a king than the one who wears the diadem, I will now show you. The one who wears the diadem has many armies; but we in turn have thoughts that outnumber them, for it is impossible to count the endless crowd of thoughts within us. Nor is their number all there is to consider. In this crowd of thoughts there are also many generals and commanders and captains, archers and slingers. [o]

What else makes a king? His clothing? But this king too is dressed in a better and finer robe, one that no moth eats and no age wears out. He has a crown as well, of intricate workmanship: the crown of glory, the crown of God’s tender mercies. For the Psalmist says, “Bless the Lord, O my soul, who crowns you with mercy and tender compassion” (Psalm 103, verses 2 and 4). Again, the crown of glory: “For you have crowned him with glory and honor” (Psalm 8, verse 6). And, “As with a shield of favor you have crowned us” (Psalm 5, verse 12, in the Greek Old Testament). Again, the crown of grace: “For you will receive a crown of grace upon your head” (Proverbs 1, verse 9, in the Greek Old Testament). Do you see this diadem of many wreaths, far lovelier than the other?

But let us begin again from the start and look more closely into the condition of these two kings. That king rules over his guards and gives orders to everyone, and all obey and serve him. But here I will show you a greater authority. The number here is as great, or even greater; what remains is to look into their obedience. And do not bring me the kings who have ruled badly, since then I too will bring the ones who were driven from their thrones and murdered by their own bodyguards. Let us not, then, bring forward those examples, but look for kings of either kind who governed their kingdoms well.

Put forward whomever you like; against them all I set the patriarch. When he was commanded to sacrifice his son, think how many thoughts rose up against him then. Yet he brought them all into submission, and they all trembled before him more than guards tremble before a king. With a single look he quieted them all, and not one of them dared so much as mutter. Down they bowed, every one of them, and gave way to him as to a king, though they were deeply stirred up and utterly relentless. The spear points held upright by a crowd of soldiers are not as frightening as those frightening thoughts were then. They were armed not with spears, but with something harder to deal with than many spears: natural affection. That is why they had power to pierce his soul more than a sharpened spear point could. No spear could ever be as sharp as the goads of those thoughts, which were sharpened and raised up from beneath, from his own affections, and pierced that righteous man’s mind through and through. With a spear there must be time and intent and a blow and pain, and then death follows; but here none of that was needed, so much quicker and sharper were the wounds.

And yet, though so many thoughts were in arms against him then, there was a deep calm, and they all stood in good order, adorning him rather than frightening him. Look at him, at least, as he stretches out the knife. Set beside him as many kings, emperors, and Caesars as you like: you will tell of nothing like this, you will point to no bearing like his, so noble, so worthy of heaven. For at that moment the righteous man set up a trophy over the most absolute of all tyrannies. Nothing is as tyrannical as nature. Find ten thousand tyrant-slayers, and you will never show us one like this. The triumph of that moment belonged to an angel, not a man. Think of it. Nature was thrown to the ground with all her weapons and all her army, and he stood with his hand stretched out, holding not a crown but a knife more glorious than any crown. The throng of angels applauded, and God from heaven proclaimed him the victor.

For since his citizenship was in heaven (Philippians 3, verse 20), it was from there that he received that proclamation. What could be more glorious than this? Or rather, what trophy could ever equal it? If, when a wrestler won, it were not a herald down below but the king above who rose and proclaimed the Olympic victor himself, would that not have seemed to him more glorious than the crown, and turned the eyes of the whole theater on him? Then when it is no mortal king but God himself, not in this theater but in the theater of the whole universe, in the assembly of the angels and the archangels, who proclaims his name with a raised voice, shouting from heaven, tell me, what place shall we give this holy man?

But if you like, let us listen to the voice itself as well. What was the voice? “Abraham, Abraham, do not lay your hand on Isaac, and do nothing to him. For now I know that you fear God, and have not spared your son, your beloved, for my sake” (Genesis 22, verses 11 and 12). What is this? Did he who knows all things before they happen only now come to know? Yet even to human beings the patriarch’s fear of God was plain. He had given so many proofs that his heart was right toward God: when God said to him, “Leave your country and your kindred” (Genesis 12, verse 1); when, for God’s sake and the honor due to him, he gave up his right of first choice to his sister’s son; when God rescued him from such great dangers; when God told him to go into Egypt, and he did not complain when his wife was taken from him; and there are more instances besides. As I said, from these things even a human being would have learned the patriarch’s fear of God — how much more God, who does not wait for the deeds in order to know how they will end. And how could God have counted him righteous if he did not know? For it is written, “Abraham believed, and it was counted to him as righteousness” (Genesis 15, verse 6; Romans 4, verse 3). [s]

What, then, does this “Now I know” mean? The Syriac has, “Now you have made it known” — that is, to human beings. For I knew long ago, even before all those commands. And why “now,” even for human beings? Were those earlier deeds not enough to prove that his mind was right toward God? They were enough, certainly; but this one is so much greater than them all that beside it they seem nothing. So God spoke this way to exalt this good deed and to show that it surpassed all the rest.

Most people speak this way about things that exceed and surpass everything before them. For instance, if someone receives from another a gift greater than any before it, he often says, “Now I know that so-and-so loves me.” He does not mean that he did not know it in the past; he intends to declare that what has just been given is greater than everything else. So God too, speaking in human fashion, says, “Now I know,” intending only to mark how far this feat surpassed the rest, not that he only then came to know either Abraham’s fear of him or its greatness. When he says, “Come, let us go down and see” (Genesis 11, verse 7; 18, verse 21), he does not say it as though he needed to go down — for he fills all things and knows all things for certain — but to teach us not to pass judgment lightly. And when Scripture says, “The Lord looked down from heaven” (Psalm 14, verse 2), it describes his perfect knowledge with an image taken from human life. So here too he says, “Now I know,” to declare that this deed was greater than everything that had gone before.

He gives proof of this very thing by adding, “because you did not spare your son, your beloved, for my sake.” He does not say only “your son,” but, more than that, “your beloved.” For it was not nature alone, but a father’s fondness too, that Abraham dared to trample down in him — a fondness he had both from his natural disposition and from his child’s great goodness. If parents are not easily indifferent even toward worthless children, but mourn even for them, then when it is his son, his only son, his beloved, Isaac himself, and the father himself is on the point of sacrificing him, who can describe how far such philosophy goes? This feat outshines thousands of diadems and countless crowns. For death often attacks and troubles the wearer of that other crown, and before death, circumstances without number; but no one will have the strength to take this diadem from the one who wears it, not even after death, neither anyone of his own household nor strangers. And let me point out to you the costliest stone in this diadem. Like a precious stone, it comes at the end and clasps the whole. What is it? The words “for my sake.” For the marvel is not that he did not spare his son, but that it was “for his sake.”

O blessed right hand — what a knife it was counted worthy to hold! O wonderful knife — what a right hand it was counted worthy of! O wonderful knife — for what a purpose was it made ready? What office did it serve? What type did it minister to? How was it bloodied? How was it not bloodied? I do not know what to say, so awe-inspiring was that mystery. It did not touch the child’s neck, nor pass through that holy one’s throat, nor turn crimson with the righteous boy’s blood. Or rather, it did touch, and pass through, and turn crimson, and was bathed in his blood — and yet was not bathed. Perhaps I seem to you to be out of my mind, saying such contradictory things. And in truth I am out of myself at the thought of that righteous man’s wonderful deed; but I am not contradicting myself. For the righteous man’s hand did thrust the knife into the boy’s throat, but God’s hand did not let it, thrust in, be stained with the boy’s blood. It was not Abraham alone who held it, but God too: Abraham gave the stroke by his intention, and God held it back by his voice. The same voice both armed and disarmed that right hand, which, marshaled under God as under a commander, did everything at his nod; all was done at his voice. For notice: he said, “Slay,” and at once it was armed; he said, “Do not slay,” and at once it was disarmed. For everything had already been fully prepared.

And now God showed the soldier and general to the whole world, this crowned victor to the theater of the angels: this priest, this king, crowned with that knife more than with a diadem, this bearer of trophies, this champion, this conqueror without a battle. A general with a very brave soldier might use that soldier’s skill with his weapons, his bearing, and his disciplined movements to terrify the enemy. In the same way God, by the intention, the stance, the bearing alone of that righteous man, terrified and routed the common enemy of us all, the devil. I think that even he shrank back in horror then. But if someone says, “And why did God not let that right hand be bathed in blood, and then raise the boy up at once after he had been sacrificed?” It is because God could not accept such bloody offerings; a table like that belongs to avenging demons. But here two things were displayed: the love for humankind of the Master, and the faithfulness of the servant. Before, he had left his country; but now he left even nature behind. That is why he received back his capital with interest — and very reasonably. He chose to lose the name of father in order to show himself a faithful servant. That is why he became not only a father but also a priest; and because for God’s sake he gave up what was his own, God gave him back what was his, and what was God’s besides. When enemies plot harm, God lets it come all the way to the trial, and then works miracles, as he did with the furnace and the lions (Daniel 3 and 6). But when he himself gives the command, once the readiness is reached, he halts his command. What, then, I ask, was still lacking to this noble deed? Did Abraham know beforehand what would happen? Did he count on the mercy of God? Even though he was a prophet, a prophet does not know everything. So the actual sacrifice afterward would have been superfluous and unworthy of God. And if he needed to learn that God was able to raise from the dead, he had learned that far more wonderfully from the womb — or rather, he had learned it even before that proof, for he had faith.

So do not only admire this righteous man; imitate him too. When you see him sailing as if in a calm amid such uproar and such a surge of waves, take in hand in the same way the helm of obedience and courage. Look, please, not only at the fact that he built the altar and laid the wood; remember too the boy’s voice, and think what hosts, like snowstorms, attacked him to shake him when he heard the boy say, “My father, where is the lamb?” Think how many thoughts were stirred up then, armed not with iron but with flaming darts, piercing him and cutting him through on every side. Even now many people who are not parents break down, and would weep if they did not know the ending; and many, I see, weep even though they know it. What must we think he felt — he who fathered him, who raised him, who had him in old age, had him as his only son, a son like this; who sees him, who hears him, and is about to slay him? [aa]

What understanding in those words! What gentleness in the question! Who, then, is at work here? The devil, to set nature on fire? Far from it! It is God, to prove still further the golden soul of the righteous man. When Job’s wife speaks, the devil is at work, for her advice is of that kind. But this boy utters nothing blasphemous, only what is deeply devout and thoughtful. Great was the grace spread over his words, and much honey dripped from them, flowing from a calm and gentle soul. These words were enough to soften even a heart of stone. But they did not turn aside that diamond; they did not even shake it. Nor did he say, “Why do you call him father, who in a little while will not be your father, who has already lost that title of honor?” And why does the boy ask the question? Not merely out of forwardness or curiosity, but because he was anxious about what lay ahead. He reasoned that if his father had not meant to make him a partner in what was being done, he would not have left the servants below and taken only him along. And surely this is why he asks when they were alone, when no one could hear what was said. So great was the boy’s good sense.

Are you not all warmed toward him, men and women alike? Does not each of you embrace the child in your mind and kiss him, and marvel at his good sense, and revere the devotion that kept him from being dismayed when he was bound and laid on the wood? He did not struggle or accuse his father of madness. He was bound and lifted up and laid on it, and bore it all in silence like a lamb — or rather, like the common Lord of all. For he imitated his gentleness and kept to the type. “He was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and like a sheep silent before its shearer” (Isaiah 53, verse 7). And yet Isaac spoke — and his Lord spoke too. How, then, was he silent? It means that he said nothing willful or harsh; everything was sweet and mild, and his words showed his gentleness more than silence would have. Christ too said, “If I have spoken evil, bear witness of the evil; but if well, why do you strike me?” (John 18, verse 23), and showed his gentleness more than if he had held his peace. And as this boy speaks with his father from the altar, so Christ speaks from the cross, saying, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” What, then, did the patriarch say? “God will provide himself a lamb for a burnt offering, my son” (Genesis 22, verse 8). Each uses the names of nature, the one “father,” the other “son.” On either side a fierce war is stirred up and a mighty storm, and yet there is no shipwreck anywhere, for devotion to God triumphed over all. Once the boy heard God named, he said no more and did not pry with forward curiosity. Such was the child’s good sense, even in the very bloom of youth.

Do you see the king, and over how many armies, in how many battles that surrounded him, he has been victorious? The barbarians who often attacked the city of Jerusalem were not as fearful to her as the thoughts besieging this man on every side were to him; and still he overcame them all. Would you see the priest as well? The proof is close at hand. When you have seen him with fire and a knife, standing over an altar, how can you still doubt his priesthood? And if you would see the sacrifice too, here it is, twofold. He offered a son; he offered a ram as well; and above all, his own will. With the blood of the lamb he consecrated his right hand, and with the sacrifice of his son, his soul. So he was ordained a priest by the blood of his only son and by the sacrifice of a lamb, for the priests too were consecrated by the blood of the victims offered to God (Leviticus 8). Would you see the prophet too? It is written, “Your father Abraham rejoiced to see my day, and he saw it and was glad” (John 8, verse 56).

In the same way you yourself are made king and priest and prophet in the washing. A king, because you have thrown to the ground all the deeds of wickedness and slain your sins. A priest, because you offer yourself to God, having sacrificed your body and having been slain yourself as well: “For if we died with him,” he says, “we will also live with him” (Second Timothy 2, verse 11). A prophet, because you know what is to come, and are inspired by God, and sealed. For as a seal is put on soldiers, so the Spirit is put on the faithful; and if you desert, it shows you up to everyone. The Jews had circumcision for a seal; we have the down payment of the Spirit. Knowing all this, then, and considering our high standing, let us show a life worthy of the grace, so that we may also gain the kingdom to come. May we all gain it by 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.