Homily 15 — Ephesians 4, verse 31

“Let all bitterness, and rage, and anger, and shouting, and slander be put away from you, with all malice.” [a]

Bees will never settle in a dirty vessel. That is why those who are skilled in these things sprinkle the place with perfumes, scented oils and sweet smells. The wicker baskets too, where the bees will have to settle as soon as they come out of the hives, they sprinkle with fragrant wines and every other sweet thing, so that no foul smell will bother them and drive them away again. It is exactly the same with the Holy Spirit. Our soul is a kind of vessel or basket, able to receive the swarms of spiritual gifts. But if there is gall inside it, and “bitterness, and rage,” the swarms will fly away.

That is why this blessed and wise keeper of the hives cleans out our vessels well and thoroughly. He holds back neither the knife nor any other iron tool, and he invites us to this spiritual swarm; and as he gathers it, he cleans us with prayers and labors and all the rest. See, then, how he cleans out our heart. He has banished lying; he has banished anger. Now he shows again how that evil may be rooted out still more completely: if we are not, he says, “bitter” in spirit.

It is like what tends to happen with our bile. If there is only a little of it, there will be only a little upset if its container should burst. But if the strength and sharpness of this fluid ever becomes excessive, the vessel that held it can no longer contain it. It is as if a scorching fire had eaten through it. It can no longer hold the bile in and keep it within its appointed bounds; torn apart by its intense sharpness, it lets it escape and injure the whole body.

It is like some very fierce and frightening wild beast that has been brought into a city. As long as it is shut up in the cage made for it, however it rages, however it roars, it cannot hurt anyone. But if rage gets the better of it, and it breaks through the bars and manages to leap out, it fills the city with every kind of confusion and uproar and sends everyone running. That is exactly the nature of bile too. As long as it is kept within its proper limits, it will do us no great harm. But the moment the membrane that encloses it bursts, and nothing stops it from spreading at once through the whole body, then, I tell you, at that very moment, small as the amount is, the excessive strength of its nature taints every other element of our body with its own peculiar poison. It finds the blood, for instance, close to it both in place and in nature, and makes the heat in that blood sharper, and everything else near it too. Passing beyond its right balance, it overflows its bounds and turns everything to gall, and with that it attacks the other parts of the body as well. And so, pouring its own poison into everything, it leaves the man speechless and makes him breathe his last, driving out life.

Now why have I described all this in such detail? So that, learning from this bitterness of the body how unbearable an evil the bitterness of the soul is, and how completely it destroys first of all the very soul that breeds it, making everything bitter, we may escape any experience of it. For as the one sets the whole body on fire, so the other sets the thoughts on fire, and it carries its captive away to the abyss of hell. So then, in order that by examining these things carefully we may escape this evil and bridle the monster, or rather root it out altogether, let us listen to what Paul says: “Let all bitterness be” — not destroyed, but — “put away from you.” For why should I go to the trouble of restraining it? What need is there to stand guard over a monster, when it is in my power to expel it from my soul, to remove it and drive it out, as it were, into exile? Let us listen, then, to Paul when he says, “Let all bitterness be put away from you.”

But oh, how perverse we are! We ought to do everything to bring this about, and yet some are so truly senseless that they congratulate themselves on this evil, pride themselves on it and glory in it, and others envy them. “So-and-so is a bitter man,” they say. “He is a scorpion, a snake, a viper.” They look on him as someone to be feared. But why, my friend, are you afraid of the bitter person? “I am afraid,” you say, “that he will hurt me, that he will ruin me. I am no match for his malice. I am afraid he will catch me, a simple man who cannot see any of his schemes coming, and throw me into his traps, and tangle us in the nets he has laid to deceive us.”

Now I cannot help smiling. And why, you ask? Because these are the arguments of children, who fear things that are not to be feared. Surely there is nothing we ought to despise so much, nothing we ought to laugh to scorn so much, as a bitter and malicious man. For nothing is so powerless as bitterness. It makes people foolish and senseless.

Do you not see that malice is blind? Have you never heard that the man who digs a pit for his neighbors digs it for himself? “What?” someone may say. “Should we not fear a soul full of turmoil?” If we are to fear the bitter the way we fear evil spirits, and fools and madmen — for they do everything at random — I grant it myself. But if we are to fear them as people skilled in managing affairs, never. For nothing is so necessary for managing affairs well as good sense, and there is no greater hindrance to good sense than wickedness, malice and insincerity. [c]

Look at people full of bile: how unsightly they are, with all their bloom withered away! How weak they are, how puny, and fit for nothing! So also are souls of this kind. What else is wickedness but a jaundice of the soul? Wickedness, then, has no strength in it. It truly has none.

Would you like me to make what I am saying plain to you once more by an example, setting before you the portraits of a treacherous man and a guileless one? Absalom was a treacherous man, and he “stole the hearts of all the men” (Second Samuel 15, verse 6). And see how great his treachery was. “He went about,” it says, “and said, ‘Can you get no justice?’” — wanting to win everyone over to himself. But David was guileless. What then? Look at how each of them ended. Look how full of sheer madness the first one was! For because he looked only to harming his father, he was blind in everything else. But David was not like that. For “he who walks uprightly walks securely” (Proverbs 10, verse 9) — and with good reason. The man who plots no evil is a man who handles nothing with too much cunning. [e]

Let us listen, then, to the blessed Paul. Let us pity the bitter-minded — yes, let us weep for them — and let us try every method and do everything to root this vice out of their souls. For how is it not absurd? There is bile in us — and that bile is useful, since without bile a man cannot possibly live; I mean the bile that is part of his nature. How is it not absurd, I say, that we should do everything we can to get rid of this, though it benefits us so greatly, and yet do nothing and take no pains to get rid of the bitterness in the soul, which is never of any benefit at all, but harmful in the highest degree?

“If anyone among you thinks he is wise,” he says, “let him become a fool, so that he may become wise” (First Corinthians 3, verse 18). Listen again to what Luke says: “They ate their food with gladness and simplicity of heart, praising God and having favor with all the people” (Acts 2, verses 46 and 47). Why, do we not see even now that the simple and guileless are held in esteem by everyone? No one envies such a person when he prospers; no one tramples on him when he is down; everyone rejoices with him when he does well and grieves with him in misfortune. But whenever a bitter man prospers, everyone laments it, as though something evil had happened; and if he meets misfortune, everyone rejoices. So let us pity such people, for they have enemies in common all over the world. Jacob was a guileless man, and yet he overcame the treacherous Esau. “For wisdom will not enter a malicious soul” (Wisdom 1, verse 4).

“Let all bitterness be put away from you.” Do not let even a remnant of it stay, for if it is stirred, it is sure to set everything inside ablaze, like a smoldering brand. Let us understand clearly, then, what this bitterness is. Take, for example, the insincere man, the crafty man, the man on the watch to do harm, the man of evil suspicion. From him “rage” and “anger” are always being produced, for a soul like this cannot possibly be at peace. The very root of “anger” and “rage” is “bitterness.” A man of this character is sullen and never lets his soul relax; he is always moody, always gloomy. For, as I was saying, such people are themselves the first to reap the fruit of their own evil ways.

“And shouting,” he adds. [f]

What now? Are you taking away shouting too? Yes, for the mild man must be like this, because shouting carries anger the way a horse carries its rider. Trip the horse, and you will throw the rider.

Let women above all pay attention to this, those who shout and bawl at every turn. There is only one thing in which it is useful to raise the voice: in preaching and in teaching. In nothing else at all — no, not even in prayer. And if you want a practical lesson, never shout at all, and then you will never be angry at all. Here is a way to keep your temper. As it is impossible for the man who does not shout to fly into a rage, so it is impossible for the man who does shout not to be enraged. Do not tell me about a man who is implacable and vengeful, bitter by sheer nature and hot-tempered by nature. We are speaking now of the sudden fit of this passion.

It helps not a little toward this end, then, to train the soul never to raise the voice and shout at all. Cut off shouting, and you will clip the wings of anger; you check the first stirring of the heart. For as a man cannot wrestle without lifting his hands, so he cannot get tangled in a quarrel without lifting his voice. Tie the boxer’s hands, and then tell him to strike. He will not be able to. So also rage will be disarmed. But shouting stirs it up even where it does not exist.

And that above all is why women are so easily overtaken by it. Whenever women are angry with their maidservants, they fill the whole house with their shouting. And often, if the house happens to stand on a narrow street, everyone passing by hears the mistress scolding and the maid weeping and wailing.

What could be more disgraceful than the sound of that wailing? What in the world has happened in there? All the women around peep in at once, and one of them says, “So-and-so is beating her own maid.” [g]

What could be more shameless than this? “What then? Should one never strike at all?” No, I do not say that — for it must be done — but it must be neither often, nor beyond measure, nor for any wrong done to yourself, as I am always saying, nor for some small failure in her service, but only if she is harming her own soul. If you punish her for a fault of that kind, everyone will approve, and no one will blame you. But if you do it for reasons of your own, everyone will condemn your cruelty and harshness.

And what is more shameful than all: some are so fierce and so savage that they whip them so hard the welts do not fade within the day. They strip the girls, and call their husbands for the purpose, and often tie them to the beds. Alas! At that moment, tell me, does no thought of hell come over you? What? You strip your maidservant and expose her to your husband? Are you not ashamed, afraid he will condemn you for it? And then do you provoke him still further, and threaten to put her in chains, after first taunting the wretched, pitiable creature with ten thousand insulting names and calling her “Thessalian witch, runaway, prostitute”?

Her passion does not let her spare even her own mouth. She looks to one thing only: how to take her vengeance on the other woman, even if she disgraces herself. And then, after all this, she sits in state like some tyrant, and calls her children, and summons her foolish husband, and treats him as her hangman. Should these things happen in the homes of Christians?

“Yes,” you say, “but slaves are a troublesome, reckless, shameless, incorrigible race.” True, I know it myself. But there are other ways to keep them in order: by fear, by threats, by words, which can both affect her more powerfully and spare you disgrace. You are a free woman, and you have uttered foul words — are you not disgracing yourself more than her? Then, if she has occasion to go out to the bath, there are welts on her back when she undresses, and she carries around with her the marks of your cruelty.

“But,” you say, “the whole tribe of slaves is unbearable if it meets with leniency.” True, I know it myself. But then, as I was saying, correct them some other way — not by the whip alone and by fear, but even by coaxing them, and by acts of kindness. If she is a believer, she is your sister. [h]

Remember that you are her mistress and that she serves you. If she drinks too much, cut off the occasions for drunkenness; call your husband and warn her. Or do you not feel how disgraceful it is for a woman to be beaten? Those who have laid down ten thousand punishments for men — the stake and the rack — will hardly ever hang a woman; they limit men’s anger to striking her on the cheek. And they have shown the sex so much respect that, even when there was absolute necessity, they have seldom hanged a woman if she happened to be pregnant. For it is a disgrace for a man to strike a woman; and if for a man, much more for one of her own sex. It is by such things, besides, that women become hateful to their husbands.

“What then,” you may say, “if she lives like a prostitute?” Marry her to a husband; cut off the occasions for sexual immorality; do not let her be fed too richly. “What then, if she steals?” Look after her and watch her. “That is too much!” you will say. “What, am I to be her keeper? How absurd!” [i]

And why, I ask, should you not be her keeper? Does she not have the same kind of soul as you? Has she not been granted the same privileges by God? Does she not share in the same table? Does she not share with you the same high birth? “But what then,” you will say, “if she is abusive, or a gossip, or a drunkard?” Yet how many free women are like that?

Now God has charged men to bear with all the failings of women. Only, he says, let a woman not play the prostitute; every other failing, bear with it. Yes, whether she is a drunkard, or abusive, or a gossip, or envious, or extravagant and a squanderer of your property, you have her as the partner of your life. Train her and restrain her. The obligation is on you. This is why you are the head.

So govern her; do your own part. Yes, and if she remains incorrigible — yes, even if she steals — look after your goods, and do not punish her so much. If she is a gossip, silence her. This is the very highest philosophy.

But now some have gone so far in indecency that they uncover the head and drag their maidservants by the hair. Why are you all blushing? I am not speaking to all of you, only to those who are carried away into such brutal conduct. Paul says, “Let a woman not be uncovered” (First Corinthians 11, verses 5 to 15). And do you strip her head covering off entirely? [l]

Do you see how you are insulting yourself? If she appears before you with her head bare, you call it an insult. And do you say there is nothing shocking when you bare it yourself?

Then you will say, “What if she is not corrected?” Discipline her, then, with the rod and with blows. And yet how many failings you have yourself, and you are not corrected! I am saying these things not for their sakes but for the sake of you free women, so that you do nothing so unworthy, nothing that disgraces you, so that you do yourselves no wrong. If you learn this lesson in your household in dealing with your maidservant, and are not harsh but gentle and forbearing, much more will you be so in your conduct toward your husband. For she who does nothing of the sort where she holds authority will do it much less where she is held in check. So the discipline you practice in dealing with your maidservants will be of the greatest help to you in winning the goodwill of your husbands.

“For with the measure you use,” he says, “it will be measured to you” (Matthew 7, verse 2). Put a bridle on your mouth. If you are trained to bear bravely with a servant girl when she talks back, you will not be upset by the insolence of an equal; and by rising above being upset, you will have reached the highest philosophy. But there are some who even add oaths — and there is nothing more shocking than a woman in such a rage. But what, again, you will say, if she dresses showily? Then forbid it; you have my consent. But check it by beginning first with yourself, not so much by fear as by example. Be yourself a perfect pattern in everything. [m]

“And let slander,” he says, “be put away from you.” See how the mischief advances. Bitterness produces rage, rage anger, anger shouting, shouting slander — that is, abuse. Next, from abusive words it goes on to blows, from blows to wounds, from wounds to death. Paul, however, did not want to mention any of these, but only this: “Let this,” he says, “be put away from you, with all malice.”

What does “with all malice” mean? It ends with this. For there are some who are like those dogs that bite on the sly. They do not bark at all at people who come near them, nor show anger; they fawn on them and put on a gentle face. But when they catch us off our guard, they sink their teeth into us. These are more dangerous than those who show their hostility openly. Now since there are men too who are dogs like this — who, when they are offended, neither shout nor fly into a passion nor threaten us, yet in secret are weaving plots and devising ten thousand mischiefs, and taking revenge not in words but in deeds — he hints at them. Let these things be put away from you, he says, “with all malice.”

Do not spare your words and then take revenge in deeds. My purpose in disciplining my tongue and cutting back its shouting is to keep it from kindling a fiercer blaze. But if you do the same thing without any shouting, and nurse the fire and the live coals within, what good is your silence? Do you not know that the most destructive fires of all are those that are fed within and do not show to those outside? And that the deadliest wounds are those that never break out to the surface, and the worst fevers those that burn up the vital organs? So also this anger that preys on the soul is the most dangerous. But let this too be put away from you, he says, “with all malice” — of every kind and degree, great and small.

Let us listen to him, then. Let us cast out all “bitterness and all malice,” so that we do “not grieve the Holy Spirit.” Let us destroy all bitterness; let us tear it up by the very roots. Nothing good, nothing wholesome, can ever come from a bitter soul — nothing but misfortunes, nothing but tears, nothing but weeping and wailing. Do you not see how we turn away from the animals that roar or howl, the lion, for instance, and the bear? But not so from the sheep, for there is no roaring there, only a mild and gentle voice. It is the same with musical instruments: those that are loud and harsh, such as the drum and the trumpet, are the most unpleasant to the ear, while those that are not, but are soothing, such as the flute and the lyre and the pipe, are pleasant. So let us prepare our soul never to shout, and in this way we will also be able to master our anger. And when we have cut this out, we ourselves will be the first to enjoy the calm, and we will sail into that peaceful harbor — which may God grant we all reach, in Jesus Christ our Lord, with whom, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, might and honor to the Father, now and always and to all the ages.

Amen.