Homily 8 — Ephesians 4, verses 1 and 2

“I therefore, the prisoner in the Lord, urge you to walk worthily of the calling with which you were called, with all humility and gentleness.” [a]

A teacher’s excellence lies in aiming not at praise, nor at being esteemed by those under his authority, but at their salvation, and in doing everything with that in view. The man who made the other thing his aim would not be a teacher but a tyrant. Surely God did not set you over them so that you might enjoy more attention and service, but so that you would disregard your own interests and build up every one of theirs. This is a teacher’s duty. Such a man was the blessed Paul: a man free from every kind of empty glory, content to be one of the many — no, more than that, to be the very least even of them. That is why he even calls himself their servant, and why he generally speaks in the tone of someone pleading. Look at him now, too. He writes nothing domineering, nothing high-handed, but everything restrained and humble.

“I therefore,” he says, “the prisoner in the Lord, urge you to walk worthily of the calling with which you were called.” Tell me, what is it you are pleading for? Is it to gain something for yourself? He answers: “No, not at all. It is so that I may save others.” And yet surely people who plead, plead for things that matter to themselves. “True. And this matters to me.” This agrees with what he says elsewhere in his writings: “For now we live, if you stand firm in the Lord” (First Thessalonians 3, verse 8). He always longed earnestly for the salvation of those he was teaching. [b]

“I, the prisoner in the Lord.” What a great and mighty dignity! It is greater than that of a king, or of a consul, or of anyone else. That is why it is the very title he uses in writing to Philemon: “as Paul the old man, and now a prisoner of Jesus Christ as well” (Philemon, verse 9). For nothing is so glorious as a chain worn for Christ’s sake, as the chains that were bound around those holy hands. It is more glorious to be a prisoner for Christ’s sake than to be an apostle, than to be a teacher, than to be an evangelist. If anyone loves Christ, he will understand what I am saying. If anyone is carried away and set on fire with devotion to the Lord, he knows the power of these chains. Such a person would rather be a prisoner for Christ’s sake than have the heavens for his home.

The hands he was showing them were more glorious than any gold — yes, than any royal diadem. No jeweled crown bound around the head gives it such glory as an iron chain worn for Christ’s sake. That prison was more glorious then than palaces — yes, than heaven itself. Why do I say more glorious than palaces? Because it held a prisoner of Christ. If anyone loves Christ, he knows the dignity of this title. He knows what a virtue this is. He knows what a great gift was given to humankind in this very thing: being bound for his sake. It is more glorious, perhaps, to be bound for his sake than “to sit at his right hand” (Matthew 20, verse 21).

It is more majestic than to “sit on the twelve thrones” (Matthew 19, verse 28). But why do I speak of human glories? I am ashamed to compare earthly riches and golden clothing with these chains. Let me say nothing of those great and heavenly glories. Even if the thing brought no reward at all, this alone would be a great reward, this a rich recompense: to suffer these hardships for the sake of the Beloved. Those who love — even when it is not God they love, but a human being — know what I mean, for they take more delight in suffering for the people they love than in being honored by them. But to understand these things fully belongs to that holy company, the apostles, I mean, and to them alone. Listen to what the blessed Luke says: “They departed from the presence of the council, rejoicing that they had been counted worthy to suffer dishonor for the Name” (Acts 5, verse 41). To everyone else it seems foolishness that to suffer dishonor is to be counted worthy, that to suffer dishonor is a reason for rejoicing. But to those who understand the love of Christ, this is thought the most blessed thing of all. [d]

If anyone offered me the choice, the whole of heaven or that chain, I would take that chain. If anyone asked me whether he should set me on high with the angels or with Paul in his chains, I would choose the prison. If anyone were about to change me into one of those powers in heaven that stand around the throne, or into a prisoner like this one, I would choose to be such a prisoner. Nothing is more blessed than that chain. I wish I could be in that very place at this moment — for the chains are said to still exist — to see those men and admire them for their love of Christ.

I wish I could see the chains that the demons fear and tremble at, and that the angels revere. Nothing is nobler than to suffer any evil for Christ’s sake. I do not count Paul so blessed because he was “caught up into Paradise” (Second Corinthians 12, verse 4) as because he was thrown into the dungeon. I do not count him so blessed because he heard “words that cannot be spoken” as because he endured those chains. I do not count him so blessed because he was “caught up to the third heaven” (Second Corinthians 12, verse 2) as I count him blessed for the sake of those chains. And that these are greater than those, listen, and you will see that he knew it himself. He does not say, “I who heard words that cannot be spoken urge you.” What does he say? “I, the prisoner in the Lord, urge you.” Nor should we be surprised that he does not write this in all his letters. He was not always in prison, but only at certain times. [e]

I think it more desirable to suffer evil for Christ’s sake than to receive honor from Christ. This is honor beyond all others; this is glory that surpasses everything. He himself became a servant for my sake and “emptied” himself of his glory (Philippians 2, verse 7), and yet he did not think himself so truly in glory as when he was crucified for my sake. If that is so, what ought I not to endure? Listen to his own words: “Father, glorify me” (John 17, verse 1).

What is this you are saying? You are being led to the cross with thieves and grave robbers. You are enduring the death of the accursed. You are about to be spat on and beaten with fists. And you call this glory? “Yes. For I suffer these things for those I love, and I count them glory through and through.” [f]

He loved the miserable and the wretched, and he calls this glory — not to be on his Father’s throne, nor in his Father’s glory, but in dishonor. If this was his glory, and he set it above the other, then much more ought I to regard these things as glory. Oh, those blessed chains! Oh, those blessed hands that the chain adorned! Paul’s hands were not so worthy when they lifted up the lame man at Lystra and raised him to his feet as when they were bound with those chains. If I had lived in those times, how eagerly I would have embraced them and pressed them to my very eyes! I would never have stopped kissing those hands that were counted worthy to be bound for my Lord.

Are you amazed at Paul, when the viper fastened on his hand and did him no harm? Do not be amazed. It revered his chain. Yes, and the whole sea revered it, for he was in chains then too, when he was saved from shipwreck. If anyone gave me power at this moment to raise the dead, I would not choose that power, but this chain. If I were free from the cares of the church, and had a strong and healthy body, I would not shrink from making so long a journey only to see those chains, only to see the prison where he was bound. The traces of his miracles are many, in every part of the world, yet they are not as dear to me as the traces of his scars (Galatians 6, verse 17). Nor does he delight me so much in the Scriptures when he is working miracles as when he is suffering evil, being flogged and dragged about. Handkerchiefs or aprons were even carried away from his body. Marvelous, truly marvelous, these things are — and yet not so marvelous as those others. “When they had given him many lashes, they threw him into prison” (Acts 16, verse 23). And again, while in chains, “they were singing hymns to God” (Acts 16, verse 25). And again: “They stoned him, and dragged him out of the city, supposing that he was dead” (Acts 14, verse 19).

Do you want to know how mighty a thing an iron chain is, worn for Christ’s sake and bound around his servant’s body? Listen to what Christ himself says: “Blessed are you” (Matthew 5, verse 11). Why? Because you raise the dead? No. Why, then? Because you heal the blind? Not at all. Why, then? “When people insult you and persecute you and say all kinds of evil against you falsely for my sake” (Matthew 5, verse 11). Now if being spoken evil of makes people so blessed, what may being treated with evil not achieve? Listen to what this blessed man himself says elsewhere: “From now on there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness” (Second Timothy 4, verse 8). And yet the chain is more glorious than this crown. “The Lord will count me worthy of this, and I do not go prying into those other things. It is enough for me, in place of every reward, to suffer evil for Christ’s sake. Let him only grant me to say, ‘I fill up what is lacking of the afflictions of Christ’ (Colossians 1, verse 24), and I ask for nothing more.”

Peter too was counted worthy of this chain. He was bound, we read, and handed over to soldiers, and he was sleeping (Acts 12, verse 6). Yet he rejoiced and was not shaken out of his right mind. He fell into a deep sleep, which could not have happened if he had been in any great anxiety. So he was sleeping between two soldiers, and an angel came to him, struck him on the side, and raised him up. Now if anyone were to say to me, “Which would you rather be? The angel who struck Peter, or Peter who was rescued?” I would choose to be Peter, for whose sake even the angel came. Yes, I would wish to enjoy those chains. [g]

You ask: “How is it, then, that he prays, as though to be released from great evils?” Do not be surprised. He prays because he is afraid he may die; and he is afraid of dying because he longs for his life to go on giving him more to suffer. Listen to what the blessed Paul himself says as well: “To depart and be with Christ is far better,” “yet to remain in the flesh is more necessary for your sake” (Philippians 1, verses 23 and 24). He even calls this a favor, when he writes, “To you it has been granted for Christ’s sake, not only to believe in him, but also to suffer for his sake” (Philippians 1, verse 29). So this is greater than the other, for he gave it as a free gift.

Truly it is a favor, and an exceedingly great one — greater than any of those others, greater than making the sun and the moon stand still, greater than moving the world, greater than having power over demons or casting demons out. The demons do not grieve so much at being cast out by the faith we exercise as when they see us suffering some evil and imprisoned for Christ’s sake, for this increases our boldness. Being in chains for Christ’s sake is not noble because it wins us a kingdom; it is noble because it is done for Christ’s sake. I do not bless those chains because they lead us to heaven, but because they are worn for the sake of the Lord of heaven. What a boast, to know that he was bound for Christ’s sake! What happiness, what high honor, what a shining distinction! I would gladly dwell on these things forever. I would gladly cling to this chain. I would gladly bind this chain around my soul by a disposition like his — in thought, at least, though in reality I do not have the power.

“The foundations of the prison,” we read, “were shaken” where Paul was bound, “and everyone’s chains were unfastened” (Acts 16, verse 26). [i]

Do you see, in chains, a nature that can undo chains themselves? Just as the Lord’s death put death itself to death, so Paul’s chains set free the men in chains, shook the prison house, and opened the doors. Yet this is not what chains naturally do; it is the very reverse. Their work is to keep the man who is bound secure, not to open the prison walls for him. No, this is not the nature of chains in general, but it is the nature of chains worn for Christ’s sake. “The jailer fell down before Paul and Silas” (Acts 16, verse 29). And again, this is not what chains in general do either, laying the binders at the feet of the bound. On the contrary, they put the bound under the hands of the binders. But here the man who was free lay at the feet of the man who had been bound. The binder was begging the man he had bound to release him from his fear.

Tell me, was it not you who bound him? Did you not throw him into the inner prison? Did you not fasten his feet in the stocks? Why are you trembling? Why are you troubled? Why are you weeping? Why have you drawn your sword? “I have never bound anyone like this! I did not know that the prisoners of Christ had power as great as this.” What are you saying? They received power to open heaven, and could they not open a prison? They set free those who were bound by evil spirits, and was a piece of iron likely to overcome them? You did not know the men — and that is why you were pardoned, too. That prisoner is Paul, whom all the angels revere. He is Paul, whose very handkerchiefs and aprons drive out demons and put diseases to flight. Surely the bond that comes from the devil is as hard as diamond, and far harder to break than iron, for it binds the soul, while iron binds only the body. Then will the man who set free souls in bondage not have power to set free his own body? Will the man who could burst the bonds of evil spirits not undo an iron rivet?

He set those other prisoners free by his very clothing, and released them from the spell of demons; will he not set himself free by his own power? This is why he was first bound himself and then set the prisoners free: so that you might understand that Christ’s servants in chains have far greater power than those who are at liberty. If someone at liberty had done this, it would not have been so marvelous. So the chain was not a sign of weakness but of greater power. In this way the holy man’s might is displayed all the more brilliantly: when, though in chains, he overpowers those who are free; when the man in chains sets free not only himself but those in chains as well. What use are walls? What was gained by thrusting him into the inner prison, when he opened the outer one too? And why was it done at night? And why with an earthquake? [j]

Oh, bear with me a little. Give me leave to set aside the apostle’s words for a while and revel in the apostle’s deeds, to feast on Paul’s chain. Let me linger on it still longer. I have taken hold of that chain, and no one will part me from it. At this moment I am bound more securely by love than he was then in the stocks. This is a bond no one can undo, for it is made of the love of Christ. Not even the angels — no, not even the kingdom of heaven — have the power to undo it. We can hear Paul’s own words: “Neither angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8, verses 38 and 39).

Now then, why did it happen at midnight? And why with an earthquake? Listen, and marvel at the way God’s providence arranges things. Everyone’s chains were unfastened, and the doors were opened. Yet this was done only for the jailer’s sake — not for display, but for his salvation. That the prisoners did not know they had been set loose is clear from Paul’s cry. What did he say? “He cried with a loud voice, saying, Do yourself no harm, for we are all here” (Acts 16, verse 28).

But they would never all have been inside if they had seen the doors opened and themselves set free. Men who were used to digging through walls, and climbing over roofs and parapets, and attempting every kind of thing while in chains, would never have put up with staying inside, their chains unfastened, the doors open, and the jailer himself asleep. No — the bond of sleep held them in place of the bonds of iron. So the thing happened, and yet the miracle did no harm to the jailer who was to be saved. Besides this, prisoners are bound most securely at night, not by day; so we may picture them bound with every care, and asleep. Had these things been done in the daytime, there would have been great commotion and uproar.

Then again, why was the building shaken? It was to wake the jailer, so that he would see what had been done; for he alone was worthy of being saved. And you too, I beg you, look at the surpassing greatness of the grace of Christ. It is right, in the midst of Paul’s chains, to speak of the grace of God as well; indeed, the chains themselves are a gift and a grace of God. There are some who complain: “Why was the jailer saved?” The very circumstances for which they ought to admire God’s love for humankind are the ones they use to find fault with it. Nor is that surprising. That is how these sickly people are: they find fault even with the food that nourishes them, which they ought to value, and they declare that honey is bitter. So are those dim-sighted people who are darkened by the very thing that ought to give them light. These effects do not come from the nature of the things themselves, but from the weakness of the people who cannot use them properly.

But what was I saying? When they ought to admire God’s love for humankind — that he took a man who had fallen into the most desperate wickedness and was making him better — they find fault: “Why, how was it that he did not take the thing for witchcraft and sorcery, and lock them up more tightly, and raise the alarm?” Many things came together to prevent this. First, he heard them singing praises to God; and sorcerers would never have been singing hymns like those. For he heard them, we are told, singing praises to God. Second, they did not run away themselves, and they even kept him from killing himself. Had they done it for their own sake, they would never have stayed quietly inside; they would have been the first to escape. Great, too, was their kindness. They kept from killing himself the very man who had bound them, all but saying to him: “Truly, you bound us with every security, and most cruelly, so that you yourself might be set free from the cruelest bonds of all.” For everyone is shackled with the chains of his own sins. Those bonds are accursed, while these, worn for Christ’s sake, are blessed and worth many earnest prayers. And he showed us, through things our senses can perceive, that these chains can undo those other chains of sin.

Did you see those who had been bound with iron set free? You will see yourself set free from other, more galling bonds. These bonds — the prisoners’ bonds, I mean, not Paul’s — are the result of those other bonds, the bonds of sins. Those who were confined inside were prisoners twice over, and the jailer himself was a prisoner. They were bound both with iron and with sins; he with sins only. Paul set them free to make the jailer’s faith sure, for the chains he undid could be seen. [k]

Christ himself did the same, but rather in the reverse order. In that case there was a double paralysis. What was it? There was the paralysis of the soul through sins, and that of the body as well. What, then, did the Lord do? “Son,” he says, “take heart; your sins are forgiven” (Matthew 9, verses 3 to 6). He first undid the bonds of the real and true paralysis, and then goes on to the other. For when “some of the scribes said to themselves, ‘This man is blaspheming,’ Jesus, knowing their thoughts, said, ‘Why do you think evil in your hearts? For which is easier, to say, “Your sins are forgiven,” or to say, “Get up and walk”? But so that you may know that the Son of Man has power on earth to forgive sins’ — then he says to the paralyzed man —

‘Get up, pick up your bed, and go to your house.’” Having worked the invisible miracle, he confirmed it by the visible one: the spiritual cure by the bodily. And why did he do it this way? So that the saying might be fulfilled: “Out of your own mouth I will judge you, you wicked servant” (Luke 19, verse 22). For what did they say? “No one can forgive sins but God alone.” So, of course, no angel can, no archangel, no other created power. [l]

You have admitted this yourselves. And what, then, should have been said? “If I am shown to have forgiven sins, it is perfectly plain that I am God.” Yet he did not say it that way. What did he say? “But so that you may know that the Son of Man has power on earth to forgive sins” — then he says to the paralyzed man — “Get up, pick up your bed, and go to your house” (Matthew 9, verse 6). It is as if he were saying: “When I work the more difficult miracle, it is plain that you have no pretext left, no room for arguing about the easier one.” That is why he worked the invisible miracle first, because there were many who argued against him; and then he led them from the invisible to the visible itself.

So the jailer’s faith was no light or hasty faith. He saw the prisoners. He saw nothing wrong and heard nothing wrong; he saw that nothing was being done by sorcery, for they were singing hymns to God. He saw that everything that happened came from an overflowing kindness, for they did not take revenge on him, though they had it in their power. It was in their power to rescue both themselves and the prisoners and escape — and if not the prisoners, then at any rate themselves. But they did not do it. So they won his reverence not only by the miracle, but by their conduct as well. [m]

For how did Paul cry out? “He cried with a loud voice, saying, Do yourself no harm, for we are all here.” You see at once how free he was of empty glory and arrogance, and how he felt for the man. He did not say, “It is for us that these wonders have been done,” but, as though he were merely one of the prisoners, he said, “For we are all here.” And yet, even if they had not freed themselves before this, or by means of the miracle, they could still have kept quiet and set everyone who was bound at liberty. For if they had held their peace, and had not stopped his hand with their loud cry, he would have driven the sword through his throat.

That is also why Paul cried out: he had been thrown into the inner cell. It was as though he had said: “You have done this to your own harm, thrusting so far inside the very men who could rescue you from danger.” Yet they did not repay him for the treatment they had received at his hands, though if he had died, all of them would have escaped. You see that they chose to stay in chains rather than let him die.

From this, too, he could reason within himself: “If they had been sorcerers, they would certainly have set the others free, and released themselves from their chains.” For it is likely that many such people had been locked up there as well. He was all the more amazed because he had often had sorcerers in his charge, and yet had never seen anything like this done. A sorcerer would never have shaken the foundations and so startled the jailer out of his sleep, making his own escape all the harder.

But now let us go on to look at the jailer’s faith. “And,” Scripture says, “he called for lights and rushed in, and trembling with fear he fell down before Paul and Silas, and brought them out, and said, Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” He had fire and sword in his hands, and he cried out, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” “And they said, Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and you will be saved, you and your household” (Acts 16, verses 29 to 31). “This is not what sorcerers do,” he would say, “to hand on teaching like this. Not a word anywhere here about an evil spirit.”

You see how worthy he was to be saved. When he saw the miracle and was freed from his terror, he did not forget what mattered most to him. Even in the middle of so great a danger he was concerned for the salvation of his soul, and he came before them the way one ought to come before teachers: he fell down at their feet. “And they spoke the word of the Lord to him,” it goes on, “with all who were in his house. And he took them the same hour of the night and washed their wounds; and he was baptized at once, he and all his household” (Acts 16, verses 32 and 33).

Look at the man’s fervor! He did not delay. He did not say, “Let day come; let us see; let us look into it.” With great fervor he was baptized himself, and all his household too. Yes — not like most people nowadays, who let their servants and wives and children go unbaptized. Be like the jailer, I beg you. I do not mean in his position of authority, but in his resolve; for what good is authority where resolve is weak? The savage man, the inhuman man, who lived by doing countless wrongs and made that his constant study, has all at once become so kind, so tenderly attentive. “He washed their wounds,” it says.

And look, on the other side, at Paul’s fervor too. Bound and flogged, this is how he preached the good news. Oh, that blessed chain! What labor pains it went through that night, and what children it brought forth! Of these too he may well say, “whom I have fathered in my chains” (Philemon, verse 10). See how he glories in it, and wants the children born this way to be all the more distinguished because of it! See how surpassing the glory of those chains is: they give luster not only to the one who wore them, but also to those he fathered on that occasion. [n]

Those who were born in Paul’s chains have a certain advantage. I do not mean in grace, for grace is one and the same; nor in forgiveness, for forgiveness is one and the same for all. I mean that from the very start they are taught to rejoice and to glory in such things. “The same hour of the night,” it says, “he took them and washed their wounds, and was baptized.”

Now look at the fruit. He immediately repaid them with his material things. “He brought them up into his house and set food before them, and rejoiced greatly with all his household, having believed in God.” What was he not ready to do, now that by the opening of the prison doors heaven itself had been opened to him? He washed his teacher, set food before him, and rejoiced. [o]

Paul’s chain went into the prison and turned everything there into a church. It drew the body of Christ along in its train, it made ready the spiritual feast, and it labored to bring forth that birth at which angels rejoice. Was it without reason, then, that I said the prison was more glorious than heaven? For it became a cause of joy there. Yes: if “there is joy in heaven over one sinner who repents” (Luke 15, verse 7), and if “where two or three are gathered together in his name, there is Christ in the midst of them” (Matthew 18, verse 20), how much more where Paul and Silas were, and the jailer and all his household, and faith as earnest as theirs! See how intensely earnest their faith was.

But this prison has reminded me of another prison. And which is that? It is the one where Peter was. Not that anything like this took place there. No. He was handed over to four squads of four soldiers to guard him, and he did not sing, he did not keep watch, but he slept. Nor, again, had he been flogged. And yet the danger was greater. In the case before us the thing was over: the prisoners, Paul and Silas, had already undergone their punishment. In his case it was still to come. So although there were no wounds to torment him, there was the expectation of what was coming to distress him. [q]

And look at the miracle there too. “Look,” the account says, “an angel of the Lord stood by him, and a light shone in the cell; and he struck Peter on the side and woke him, saying, Get up quickly. And his chains fell off his hands” (Acts 12, verse 7). The angel struck Peter as well, so that he would not imagine the whole thing was the doing of the light alone. Now no one saw the light but Peter himself, and he thought it was a vision. That is how unaware of God’s mercies those who are asleep can be.

“And the angel,” it goes on, “said to him, Fasten your belt and tie on your sandals; and he did so. And he said to him, Throw your cloak around you and follow me. And he went out and followed, and he did not know that what the angel was doing was real, but thought he was seeing a vision. And when they had passed the first and the second guard, they came to the iron gate that leads into the city, which opened for them of its own accord; and they went out and went along one street, and immediately the angel left him” (Acts 12, verses 8 to 10). Why was the same thing not done here as was done in the case of Paul and Silas?

Because in that case they intended to release them, and for that reason God did not will that they should be released in this way. But in blessed Peter’s case they intended to lead him out to execution. [r]

“But what then? Would it not have been far more wonderful if he had been led out and handed over into the king’s hands, and then snatched from the very midst of his danger and come to no harm? That way the soldiers would not have died either.” A great question has been raised on this point. “What! Did God save his own servant at the cost of others’ punishment, of others’ destruction?”

Well, in the first place, it was not at the cost of others’ destruction. That did not come from the ordering of providence; it came from the cruelty of the judge. How so? God had so arranged things in his providence that not only need these men not die, but even the judge himself might have been saved, just as the jailer was in our case. But he did not use the gift rightly. “Now as soon as it was day,” it goes on, “there was no small stir among the soldiers over what had become of Peter.” And what then? Herod looks strictly into the matter: “and he examined the guards,” the account says, “and commanded that they be put to death” (Acts 12, verses 18 and 19). Now if he had not examined them, there might have been some excuse for executing them.

But as it was, he had them brought before him, he examined them, and he found that Peter had been bound, that the prison had been well secured, and that the guards were in front of the doors. No wall had been broken through, no door had been opened; there was no other sign of foul play at all. At this he ought to have stood in awe of the power of God, which had snatched Peter from the very midst of danger, and to have worshiped the One who was able to do such mighty works. Instead he ordered those men off to execution. How, then, is God the cause in this case?

If God had had the wall broken through and brought Peter out that way, the deed might perhaps have been charged to the guards’ negligence. But if he so ordered it in his providence that the thing was shown to be the work not of human wrongdoing but of God’s miraculous power, why did Herod act as he did? For if Peter had meant to run away, he would have run just as he was, with his chains on. If he had meant to escape, in his confusion he would never have had the presence of mind to take even his sandals; he would have left them behind.

As it was, the reason the angel said to him, “Tie on your sandals,” was so that they might know he had not done this in the act of running away, but at his full leisure. For bound as he was, and fastened between two soldiers, he would never have had enough time to undo his chains as well — especially since he too, like Paul, was in the inner cell. So the guards’ punishment was due to the injustice of the judge. [s]

For why did the Jews not act in the same way? Now again I am reminded of yet another prison. The first was the one at Rome, the next this one at Caesarea, and now we come to the one at Jerusalem. The chief priests and the Pharisees heard from those they had sent to the prison to bring Peter out that “they found no one inside,” though the doors were “shut” and “the guards standing at the doors.” Why was it, then, that they not only did not put the guards to death, but on the contrary “were greatly perplexed about them, wondering what this would come to”? If the Jews, murderous as they were in their plans against the apostles, never even thought of such a thing, much less should you have done it — you who did everything to please those same Jews. For this unjust sentence vengeance quickly overtook Herod.

But if anyone complains of this, then let him complain too about those who are killed on the highways, and about the countless others who are put to death unjustly, and further, about the infants who were slaughtered at the time of Christ’s birth. For by your reasoning Christ too was the cause of their deaths. But it was not Christ; it was the madness and tyranny of Herod’s father. Do you ask: “Why, then, did he not snatch him out of Herod’s hands?” True, he could have done so, but nothing would have been gained by it. How many times, at least, did Christ escape even from their very grasp? And yet what good did that do that unfeeling people? But here, much profit came to the faithful from what was done. For since records were made, and the enemies themselves bore witness to the facts, the testimony was beyond suspicion. So just as in that other case the enemies’ mouths were stopped in no other way than by the very people who came and admitted the facts, so it was here too. [u]

For why did the jailer here do nothing like what Herod did? And yet what Herod witnessed was no less wonderful than what this man witnessed. As far as wonder goes, to be assured that a prisoner came out while the doors were shut is no less wonderful than to see the doors standing open. Indeed, the second might perhaps have seemed a trick of the imagination; the first never could, once it had been reported exactly and in every detail. So if this man had been as wicked as Herod, he would have killed Paul, as Herod killed the soldiers. But he was not.

If anyone should ask, “Why did God allow the children too to be murdered?” I would probably fall into a longer discourse than I meant to address to you at the start. [w]

Here, though, let us bring our discourse to a close, with many thanks to Paul’s chain for having become the source of so many blessings for us. And I urge you: if you have to suffer anything for Christ’s sake, do not merely keep from complaining, but rejoice, as the apostles did — yes, and glory in it. As Paul said, “Most gladly, then, will I rather glory in my weaknesses” (Second Corinthians 12, verse 9); for it was because of this that he also heard those words, “My grace is sufficient for you.”

Paul glories in chains, and do you pride yourself on riches? The apostles rejoiced that they were counted worthy to be flogged, and are you looking for ease and self-indulgence? On what grounds, then, do you hope to reach the same end as they did, if here on earth you are traveling the opposite road? “And now,” Paul says, “I am going bound in the spirit to Jerusalem, not knowing what will happen to me there, except that the Holy Spirit testifies to me in every city, saying that chains and afflictions await me” (Acts 20, verse 22). Then why do you set out, if chains and afflictions await you? For this very reason, he says: so that I may be bound for Christ’s sake, so that I may die for his sake. “For I am ready not only to be bound, but also to die for the name of the Lord Jesus” (Acts 21, verse 13).

Nothing could be more blessed than that soul. What does he glory in? In chains, in afflictions, in fetters, in scars. “I bear branded on my body,” he says, “the marks of Jesus” (Galatians 6, verse 17), as though they were some great trophy. And again: “For it is because of the hope of Israel,” he says, “that I am bound with this chain” (Acts 28, verse 20). And again: “For which I am an ambassador in chains” (Ephesians 6, verse 20). [x]

What is this? Are you not ashamed? Are you not afraid, going around the world as a prisoner? Are you not afraid that someone will accuse your God of weakness, or that someone will refuse on this account to come near you and join the flock? “No,” he says, “my chains are not like that. They can shine brightly even in kings’ palaces.” “So that my chains in Christ have become known throughout the whole praetorian guard, and most of the brothers in the Lord, made confident by my chains, are much more bold to speak the word of God without fear” (Philippians 1, verses 13 and 14). See: a power in chains stronger than raising the dead! “They saw me in chains, and they are all the more courageous.” For where there are chains, there must be something great as well. Where there is affliction, there truly is salvation too; there truly is comfort; there truly are great achievements.

For when the devil kicks, that is when he himself gets struck. When he binds God’s servants, that is when the word gains most ground. And see how this is so everywhere. Paul was put in prison, and in the prison he did these things — yes, he says, by my very chains. He was imprisoned at Rome, and brought all the more converts to the faith; for not only was he himself emboldened, but many others too because of him. He was imprisoned at Jerusalem, and preaching in his chains he struck the king with amazement (Acts 26, verse 28) and made the governor tremble (Acts 24, verse 25). For the governor, the account says, was afraid and sent him away; and the man who had bound him was not ashamed to receive instruction about the things to come from the man he had bound. [y]

In chains he sailed, and he made good the shipwreck and bound the storm fast. It was while he was in chains that the beast fastened on him and fell from his hand without doing him any harm. He was bound at Rome, and preaching in chains he drew thousands to his cause, holding up, in place of every other argument, this very one: I mean his chain.

It is not our lot nowadays to be put in chains. And yet there is another chain, if we have a mind to wear it. What is it? It is to restrain our hand, and not be so quick to greed. Let us bind ourselves with this chain. Let the fear of God be to us in place of a chain of iron. Let us set free those who are bound by poverty, by affliction. There is no comparison between opening the doors of a prison and releasing an enslaved soul. There is no comparison between loosing the chains of prisoners and “setting free those who are bruised” (Luke 4, verse 18). The second is far greater than the first. For the first no reward is laid up; for the second, countless rewards.

Paul’s chain has turned out to be a long one, and has kept us a long time.

Yes, long it certainly is, and more beautiful than any cord of gold. This is a chain that draws those bound by it up to heaven, as though by some invisible machine; like a golden cord let down, it draws them up to the heaven of heavens. And the wonderful thing is this: though it is bound here below, it draws its captives upward. That is not the nature of such things. But where God orders and arranges, do not look for the nature of things or for their natural sequence, but for what is above nature and natural sequence.

Let us learn not to sink under affliction or to complain. Look at this blessed holy man. He had been flogged, and flogged severely, for it says, “When they had laid many blows on them.” He had been bound too, and that again severely, for the jailer threw him into the inner cell and secured him with extraordinary care. And though he was in so many dangers, at midnight — when even the most wakeful are held by sleep, another and a stronger chain — they chanted hymns and sang praises to the Lord. What could be more diamond-hard than these souls? They remembered how the holy young men sang even in the fire and the furnace (Daniel 3, verses 1 to 30). Perhaps they reasoned this way with themselves: “We have not yet suffered anything like that.” [aa]

But our discourse has done well to bring us out again to other chains and into another prison. What am I to do? I would gladly be silent, but I cannot. I have discovered another prison, far more wonderful and more astonishing than the first. Come, then, rouse yourselves as though I were only now beginning my discourse, and listen to me with fresh minds. I would gladly break off, but the discourse will not let me. Just as a man in the middle of drinking cannot bear to break off his draught, whatever anyone promises him, so I too, now that I have taken hold of this glorious cup — the prison of those who were bound for Christ’s sake — cannot leave off; I cannot hold my peace. If Paul in prison, and at night, did not keep silent, no, not even under the whip, shall I, sitting here by daylight and speaking so much at my ease, hold my peace, when men in chains, under the whip, and at midnight could not bear to? The holy young men were not silent, no, not in the furnace and the fire; and are we not ashamed to hold our peace?

So let us look at this prison too. Here, too, they were bound; but at once, from the very start, it was clear that they were not going to be burned, but only to go in as though into a prison. For why do you bind men who are about to be handed over to the flames? They were bound, as Paul was, hand and foot. They were bound with as much violence as he was: the jailer thrust him into the inner prison, and the king commanded the furnace to be heated intensely. Now let us see the outcome. When Paul and Silas sang, the prison was shaken and the doors were opened. When the three young men sang, the bonds on both their feet and their hands were loosed. The prison was opened, and the doors of the furnace were opened, for a dewy breeze whistled through it.

But many thoughts crowd in on me, and I do not know which to speak of first and which second. So let no one, I beg you, demand order of me, for the subjects are closely bound up together. [ac]

Those who were bound together with Paul and Silas were set loose, and yet they slept all the same. In the case of the three young men, something else took place instead: the men who had thrown them in were themselves burned to death. And then, as I was eager to tell you, the king saw them loose and fell down before them. He heard them singing their song of praise, saw four men walking, and called them. Just as Paul, though able to come out, did not come out until the one who had thrown him in called him and brought him out, so the three young men did not come out until the one who had thrown them in commanded them to come out. What lesson are we taught by this? Not to be overhasty in courting persecution, nor, when we are in distress, to be overeager for deliverance; and, on the other hand, when they release us, not to stay in it.

Further: the jailer, since he could go in where the holy men were, fell down at their feet. The king came only to the door and fell down. He did not dare go near the prison he had prepared for them in the fire. And now notice their words. The one cried, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” (Acts 16, verse 30).

The other, though he did not speak with such great humility, still uttered words no less sweet: “Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, servants of the Most High God, come out, and come here” (Daniel 3, verse 26). What dignity! “Servants of the Most High God, come out, and come here.” How are they to come out, O king? You threw them into the fire bound, and they have been in the fire all this time. Why, if they had been made of diamond, if they had been blocks of metal, would they not have perished while singing that whole hymn? This, then, is why they were saved: because they sang praises to God. The fire stood in awe of their readiness to suffer, and afterward it stood in awe of that wonderful song and their hymns of praise. [ad]

By what title do you call them? I quoted it a moment ago: “Servants of the Most High God.” Yes, to the servants of God all things are possible. For if some who are the servants of men nevertheless have power and authority and the management of affairs, much more do the servants of God. He called them by the name most delightful to them; he knew that this was the way to please them most. For indeed, if they went into the fire in order to remain servants of God, no sound could be more delightful to them than this. Had he called them kings, had he called them lords of the world, he would not have given them such real joy as when he said, “Servants of the Most High God.”

And why wonder at this? When Paul wrote to the mighty city, the mistress of the world, which prided itself on its high honors, he set down this title as equal in dignity to the consulship, or the name of king, or the rule of the whole world — no, as far greater, as incomparably greater: “Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ” (Romans 1, verse 1). “Servants of the Most High God.” “Yes,” he would say, “if they show such zeal to be his slaves, surely this is the title by which we will win them over.” [ae]

Notice, too, the godliness of the young men. They showed no indignation, no anger, no talking back; they simply came out. If they had regarded their being thrown into the furnace as an act of vengeance, they would have been resentful toward the man who threw them in. As it is, there is nothing of the kind. They came out as though they were coming out of heaven itself. And what the prophet says of the sun, that “he is like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber” (Psalm 19, verse 5), one would not be wrong to say of them as well. But though the sun comes out like that, they came out there more gloriously than he does. For he comes out to light up the world with natural light; they came out to light it up in a different way — I mean, spiritually. For because of them the king immediately issued a decree containing these words: “It has seemed good to me to make known the signs and wonders that the Most High God has done for me. How great are his signs! And how mighty are his wonders!” (Daniel 4, verses 2 and 3). So they came out shining with a still more glorious radiance. They shone in that land itself; but, more than all, through the king’s letters their light could spread over the world and drive away the darkness that lay everywhere.

“Come out,” he said, “and come here.” He gave no command to put out the flame. By this above all he honored them: he believed that they could not only walk about inside it, but even come out of it while it was still burning. [ah]

But let us look again, if you are willing, at the jailer’s words: “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” What language could be sweeter than this? It makes the very angels leap for joy. To hear this language, the only Son of God himself became a servant. This is the language those who first believed spoke to Peter (Acts 2, verse 37): “What shall we do?” And what did he say in answer? “Repent and be baptized.” To have heard this language from the Jews, Paul would gladly have been thrown even into hell, so eager was he for their salvation and their obedience. But notice: he leaves the whole matter to them, and spends no needless effort.

Let us look, though, at the next point. The king here does not say, “What must I do to be saved?” But in his case the lesson is plainer than any words could make it. He at once becomes a preacher; he has no need to be instructed, as the jailer did. He proclaims God and confesses his power: “Truly your God is the God of gods and the Lord of kings, because he has sent his angel and delivered you” (Daniel 2, verse 47; 3, verse 28). And what followed? Not one single jailer, but great numbers were instructed, by the king’s letters and by the sight of what had happened. For it is plain enough to everyone that the king would not have told a lie. He would never have chosen to bear such testimony in favor of captives, or to overturn his own acts; he would never have chosen to be charged with such utter madness. So if the truth had not been abundantly clear, he would not have written in such terms, and with so many people present.

Do you see how great is the power of chains? How great the force of praises sung in distress? Their hearts did not fail; they were not downcast. They were more vigorous than ever then, and their courage greater still — and rightly so.

While we are considering these things, one question still remains for us. Why was it that in the prison the prisoners were set free, while at the furnace the executioners were burned to death? That fate, surely, should have been the king’s, since neither those who bound the young men nor those who threw them into the furnace were as guilty as the man who ordered it done. Why, then, did they perish? This point needs no very close examination: they were wicked men. And so it was arranged by God’s providence, that the power of the fire might be shown and the miracle made more striking. For if the fire devoured those who were outside it like that, how did it keep unharmed those who were inside it? It was so that the power of God might be made plain. And let no one wonder that I have put the king on the same level as the jailer. He did the same thing; the one was in no way nobler than the other, and they both received their reward.

But, as I said, the righteous are especially energetic when they are in distress, and when they are in chains. For to suffer anything for Christ’s sake is the sweetest consolation of all. [al]

Would you like me to remind you of yet another prison? It seems necessary to go on from this chain to still another prison. And which would you like? Shall it be Jeremiah’s, or Joseph’s, or John’s? Thanks to Paul’s chain! How many prisons has it opened to our sermon? Would you like John’s?

He too was once bound for Christ’s sake and for the law of God. What then? Was he idle when he was in prison? Was it not from there that he sent his disciples and said, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to look for another?” (Matthew 11, verses 2 and 3). So even there, it seems, he taught, for surely he did not neglect his duty. And again, did not Jeremiah prophesy about the king of Babylon, and carry out his work even there in prison? And what about Joseph? Was he not in prison thirteen years? What then? Not even there did he forget his virtue. I have yet to mention the chains of one more, and with them I will close my sermon. Our Master himself was bound, he who set the world free from sins. Those hands were bound, those hands that had done ten thousand good deeds. For “they bound him,” it says, “and led him away to Caiaphas” (Matthew 27, verse 2; John 18, verse 24). Yes, he was bound who had done so many wonderful works.

Reflecting on these things, let us never grumble. Whether we are in chains, let us rejoice; or whether we are not in chains, let us be as though we were bound together with him. See how great a blessing chains are! Knowing all this, let us send up our thanks to God for all things, through Christ Jesus our Lord, with whom, to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, might and honor, now and forever and ever. Amen.