Homily 2 — Philippians 1, verses 8 to 17

“For God is my witness how I long for you all in the tender mercies of Jesus Christ. And this I pray, that your love may abound still more and more in knowledge and all discernment, so that you may approve the things that are excellent; that you may be sincere and without offense until the day of Christ, being filled with the fruits of righteousness, which come through Jesus Christ, to the glory and praise of God.” [a]

He does not call God to witness as though he might be doubted. He does it out of his great affection, and his complete conviction and confidence. He had just said that they were partners with him; now he adds this too, “in the tender mercies of Christ,” so that they would not think his longing for them was for that reason, and not simply for their own sake. And what do these words mean, “in the tender mercies of Christ”? They stand for “according to Christ”: because you are believers, because you love Christ, because of the love that is according to Christ. He does not say “love”; he uses a still warmer expression, “the tender mercies of Christ,” as if he had said, “I have become like a father to you through the kinship that is in Christ.” For this gives us a heart that is warm and glowing; he gives such a heart to his true servants. “With this heart,” he says — as if one were to say, “I love you not with a natural heart, but with a warmer one, that is, the heart of Christ.”

“How I long for you all.” I long for all of you, since you are all of this kind. I cannot put my longing into words for you; it is impossible to tell. That is why I leave it to God, who moves freely through the heart, to know it. Now if he had been flattering them, he would not have called God to witness, for that cannot be done without danger.

Verse 9: “And this I pray,” he says, “that your love may abound still more and more.”

This is a good thing no one ever has enough of. See: though he was loved so much, he wished to be loved still more. For whoever loves the one he loves is unwilling to stop at any point in loving, since there cannot be a limit to something so noble. Paul wants the debt of love always to be owing: “Owe no one anything, except to love one another” (Romans 13, verse 8). The measure of love is to stop nowhere. “That your love,” he says, “may abound still more and more.”

Consider how the phrase is put: “that it may abound still more and more,” he says, “in knowledge and all discernment.” He does not simply praise friendship, or simply love, but the kind that comes from knowledge. That is, you should not give the same love to everyone, for that does not come from love but from a lack of sense. What does he mean by “in knowledge”? He means with judgment, with reason, with discrimination. There are people who love without reason, simply and anyhow, and that is why such friendships are weak. He says, “in knowledge and all discernment, so that you may approve the things that are excellent” — that is, the things that are profitable.

“I do not say this for my own sake,” he says, “but for yours.” For there is a danger that someone may be corrupted by love for the heretics. All this is what he is hinting at — and see how he brings it in. “I do not say this for my own sake,” he says, “but so that you may be sincere” — that is, so that you do not accept any counterfeit teaching under the pretense of love.

How then does he say, “If it is possible, live peaceably with all”? “Live peaceably,” he says (Romans 12, verse 18) — not, “Love in such a way that the friendship does you harm.” For he says, “If your right eye causes you to stumble, pluck it out and throw it away from you” (Matthew 5, verse 29). “So that you may be sincere” — that is, before God — “and without offense” — that is, before people. For many people’s friendships often do them harm. “Even if it does you no harm,” he says, “someone else may still stumble over it.” “Until the day of Christ” — that is, so that you may be found pure then, having caused no one to stumble.

Verse 11: “Being filled with the fruits of righteousness, which come through Jesus Christ, to the glory and praise of God” — that is, holding an upright life together with true teaching. [e]

And not merely upright, but “filled with the fruits of righteousness.” For there is indeed a righteousness that is not according to Christ — a moral life, for example. “Which come through Jesus Christ, to the glory and praise of God.” Do you see that I am not speaking of my own glory, but of the righteousness of God? And he often calls mercy itself righteousness as well. He says: Do not let your love harm you indirectly, by keeping you from seeing what is profitable; take care that you do not fall through your love for anyone. I do want your love to grow, but not so that you are harmed by it. And I do not want it to rest simply on a judgment made beforehand, but on testing whether what I say is good or not.

He does not say, “so that you may take up my opinion,” but “so that you may prove it.” He does not say outright, “Do not attach yourselves to this man or that,” but, “I want your love to look to what is profitable, not that you should be without understanding.” For it is a foolish thing if you do not practice righteousness for Christ’s sake and through him. Notice the words, “through him.” Does he then treat God as a mere assistant? Far from it! “Not so that I may receive praise,” he says, “but so that God may be glorified.”

Verses 12 and 13: “Now I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that the things that have happened to me have turned out rather for the advance of the good news, so that my chains in Christ have become known throughout the whole praetorian guard, and to all the rest.”

They would probably grieve when they heard he was in chains, and imagine that the preaching had come to a standstill. What then? He removes this suspicion at once. And this too shows his affection: he tells them what had happened to him because they were anxious.

What are you saying? You are in chains! You are held back! How then does the good news advance? He answers, “so that my chains in Christ have become known in the whole praetorium.” This not only did not silence the rest or frighten them; on the contrary, it encouraged them all the more. So if those who were close to the dangers were not harmed at all, but even gained greater confidence, much more should you. If in his chains he had taken it hard and held his peace, they would probably have felt the same way. But because he spoke more boldly in chains, he gave them more confidence than if he had not been bound at all.

And how did his chains “turn out for the advance of the good news”? He means that God, in his arrangement of things, so ordered it that his chains were not hidden — his chains that were “in” Christ, that is, “for” Christ.

“Throughout the whole praetorium.” That is what they called the palace at that time. And in the whole city, he says. [f]

Verse 14: “And most of the brothers and sisters in the Lord, made confident by my chains, are much more bold to speak the word without fear.”

This shows that they had been of good courage even before, and spoke boldly, but much more now. “If others take courage from my chains,” he says, “how much more do I! If I am a cause of confidence to others, much more am I to myself.” “And most of the brothers and sisters in the Lord.” Since it was a great thing to say, “My chains gave them confidence,” he puts “in the Lord” first. Do you see how, even when he finds himself compelled to say great things, he does not abandon modesty? “Are much more bold,” he says, “to speak the word without fear.” The words “much more” show that they had already begun.

Verse 15: “Some indeed preach Christ even out of envy and strife, and some also out of goodwill.”

What this means is worth looking into. Since Paul was in custody, many of the unbelievers, wanting to stir up the emperor’s persecution more fiercely, began to preach Christ themselves. They did it so that the emperor’s anger would grow as the good news spread, and all his wrath would fall on Paul’s head. So two courses of action have sprung from my chains. One group took great courage from them; the other, hoping to bring about my destruction, set about preaching Christ. “Some out of envy” — that is, envying my reputation and my constancy, they work with me out of a desire for my destruction and a spirit of strife; or else so that they themselves may be well thought of, expecting to draw some of my glory to themselves. [h]

“And some also out of goodwill” — that is, without hypocrisy, in all earnestness.

Verse 16: “The one party proclaims Christ out of faction, not sincerely.”

That is, not with pure motives, nor out of regard for the thing itself. Why then? “Thinking to add affliction to my chains.” Since they think that in this way I will fall into greater danger, they add affliction to affliction. What cruelty! What devilish prompting! They saw him in chains and thrown into prison, and still they envied him. They wanted to increase his misfortunes and expose him to greater anger. He was right to say “thinking,” for it did not turn out that way. They thought they would grieve me by this; but I rejoiced that the good news was spreading.

Verse 17: “But the other out of love, knowing that I am appointed for the defense of the good news.”

What does “I am appointed for the defense of the good news” mean? It is this: they are preparing for the account I must give to God, and helping me. What is meant by “for the defense”? I have been appointed to preach. I must give an account, and answer for the work to which I was appointed. They are helping me, so that my defense may be easy; for if many are found who have been taught and have believed, my defense will be easy.

So it is possible to do a good work from a motive that is not good. And not only is there no reward waiting for such an action, but punishment. Since they preached Christ out of a desire to involve the preacher of Christ in greater dangers, not only will they receive no reward, but they will be subject to vengeance and punishment. “And some out of love” — that is, they know that I must give an account for the good news.

Verse 18: “What then? Only that in every way, whether in pretense or in truth, Christ is proclaimed.”

But see the man’s wisdom. He did not accuse them fiercely; he spoke of the result. “What difference does it make to me,” he says, “whether it is done this way or that? Only that in every way, whether in pretense or in truth, Christ is proclaimed.” He did not say, “Let him be proclaimed,” as some suppose, who claim that he is opening the door to the heresies. He said, “He is proclaimed.” In the first place, he was not laying down a law and saying, as though he were making a rule, “Let him be proclaimed”; he was reporting what was taking place. Secondly, even if he had spoken as though laying down a law, not even so would he have been opening the door to the heresies.

Let us examine the matter. Even if he had given permission to preach as they preached, he would still not have been opening the door to the heresies. How so? Because they preached soundly. Although the aim and purpose behind their actions was corrupt, the preaching itself was not changed, and they were forced to preach that way. Why? Because if they had preached otherwise than Paul preached, if they had taught otherwise than he taught, they would not have increased the emperor’s anger. But as it was, by furthering his preaching, by teaching the same way and making disciples as he did, they had the power to enrage the emperor when he saw how numerous the disciples had become.

But then some wicked and senseless person seizes on this passage and says: Surely they would have done the opposite! If they had wanted to annoy him, they would have driven off those who had already believed, instead of making believers multiply. What shall we answer? That they looked to this one thing only: how they might involve him in present danger and leave him no way of escape. They thought they would grieve him and put out the good news this way rather than the other.

By that other course they would have put out the emperor’s anger; they would have let him go free to preach again. But by this course they thought that everything would be ruined because of him, if only they could destroy him. Yet the many could not have had this intention; only certain bitter men. [i]

Then he says, “And in this I rejoice, yes, and I will rejoice.” What does “yes, I will rejoice” mean? Even if this is done still more, he means. For they work with me even against their will. They will receive punishment for their toil, while I, who contributed nothing to it, will receive a reward. Could anything go beyond this villainy of the devil — to arrange punishment for preaching, and vengeance for toil? Do you see how many evils he pierces his own followers with? How else would one who hates their salvation and is its enemy have arranged all this? Do you see how he who wages war against the truth has no power, but instead wounds himself, like one who kicks against the goads?

Verse 19: “For I know,” he says, “that this will turn out for my salvation through your petition and the supply of the Spirit of Jesus Christ.”

Nothing is more villainous than the devil. This is how he everywhere involves his own followers in fruitless toil, and tears them apart. Not only does he not let them win the prizes; he even makes them liable to punishment. For he urges on them not only the preaching of the good news, but fasting and virginity as well, in such a way that these will not only rob them of their reward but bring heavy evil down on those who follow that course. It is of these people that he says elsewhere too, “branded in their own conscience as with a hot iron” (First Timothy 4, verse 2).

So I beg you, let us give thanks to God for everything, since he has both lightened our toil and increased our reward. Those among them who live in virginity do not enjoy the rewards that those among us enjoy who live chastely in marriage. No, those who live as virgins among the heretics are subject to the condemnation of the sexually immoral. All this springs from their not acting with a right aim, but as people who find fault with what God has made and with his wisdom beyond words. [k]

So let us not be sluggish. God has set before us contests of moderate size, that involve no hardship. But let us not despise them for that reason. For if the heretics strain themselves in fruitless toil, what excuse will we have if we will not endure contests that are lighter and carry a greater reward? Which of Christ’s commands is burdensome? Which is hard to bear? You cannot live a virgin’s life? You are allowed to marry. You cannot strip yourself of everything you have? You are allowed to supply the needs of others from what you have. “Let your abundance be a supply for their need” (Second Corinthians 8, verse 14).

These things do seem burdensome. What things? I mean despising money and overcoming the desires of the body. But his other commands involve no cost and no strain. Tell me, what strain is there in speaking no evil, in simply keeping from slander? What strain is there in not envying another man’s goods? What strain in not being carried away by empty glory? To be tortured and endure it takes strength. The practice of philosophy takes strength. To bear poverty all through life takes strength. It takes strength to wrestle with hunger and thirst. But where none of these things is present, where you may enjoy what is your own, as a Christian should, without envying others, what strain is there?

This is where envy comes from; or rather, all evils come from no other source than this: that we cling to the things of the present. If you held money and the glory of this world to be nothing, you would not cast an evil eye on those who have them. But since you gape at these things, and make idols of them, and are beguiled by them, that is why envy troubles you, and empty glory too. It all springs from making idols of the things of this present life.

Are you envious because another man is rich? Why, such a man is someone to pity and to weep over. But you laugh and answer at once: I am the one to weep over, not he. You too are someone to weep over — not because you are poor, but because you think yourself wretched. For we weep over those who have nothing wrong with them and yet are discontented — not because something is wrong with them, but because, though nothing is, they think it is. For example, if someone who has been cured of a fever is still restless and tosses about, lying in bed in good health, is he not more to be wept over than those who have the fever? Not because he has a fever — he has none — but because, though he has no sickness, he still thinks he has. In the same way you are someone to weep over just because you think yourself wretched, not because of your poverty. For your poverty you ought to be counted blessed.

Why do you envy the rich man? Is it because he has taken many cares on himself? A harder slavery? Because he is bound like a dog with ten thousand chains — his riches? Evening comes upon him, night comes upon him, and the time of rest is for him a time of trouble, of anguish, of pain, of worry. There is a noise — and at once he jumps up. Has his neighbor been robbed? The man who has lost nothing worries about it more than the one who was robbed. For that man lost once, and when he has borne the pain he lays his care aside; but the other carries it with him always. [m]

Night comes on, the harbor of our ills, the comfort of our sorrows, the medicine for our wounds. Those who are weighed down by overwhelming grief often do not listen to their friends, their relatives, those closest to them — often not even to a father trying to comfort them — but take their very words badly. But when sleep bids them rest, no one has the strength to look him in the face. For the bitterness of grief afflicts our souls worse than any burning heat. And just as the body, parched and worn down by struggling against the blaze of the sun, is brought to a roadside inn with many fountains and the soothing of a gentle breeze, so night hands our soul over to sleep.

Or rather, I should say, it is not night or sleep that does this, but God, who knows how worn out with toil our race is. He has done this, while we have no pity on ourselves. As though we were at war with ourselves, we have devised a tyranny more powerful than the natural need for rest: the sleeplessness that comes from wealth. For it is said, “The anxieties of wealth drive away sleep” (Sirach 31, verse 1). See how great God’s care is! He has not left rest to our will, or our need of sleep to our choice, but has bound it up in the necessities of nature, so that good might be done to us even against our will. For sleep belongs to nature. But we, as though we were fierce haters of ourselves, like enemies and persecutors of others, have devised a tyranny greater than this necessity of nature — the tyranny that comes from money.

Has day dawned? Then such a man is in dread of the informers. Has night come upon him? He trembles at robbers. Is death at hand? The thought that he must leave his goods to others eats at him worse than death. Has he a son? His desires grow, and then he imagines himself poor. Has he none? His pains are greater. Do you count him blessed, who cannot get pleasure from any side? Can you envy him, tossed by the storm as he is, while you yourself are set in the quiet harbor of poverty? Truly this is the weakness of human nature: it does not bear its good fortune nobly, but insults its very prosperity.

And all this is on earth. But when we depart to that place, listen to what the rich man says — the master of countless good things, as you call them (for my part I do not call these things good, but indifferent). Listen to what this master of countless good things says, and what he is in need of: “Father Abraham,” he cries, “send Lazarus, so that with the tip of his finger he may drop water on my tongue, for I am scorched in this flame.” For even if that rich man had suffered none of the things I have mentioned, if he had passed his whole life without dread and care — why do I say his whole life? Rather, that one moment (for it is a moment; our whole life is only one moment compared with that eternity which has no end) — if everything had turned out as he wished, must he not be pitied for these words, or rather, for this state of things?

Was your table not once flooded with wine? Now you are not master even of a drop of water, and that in your greatest need. Did you not neglect that poor man full of sores? But now you ask to see him, and no one allows it. He lay at your gate; but now he is in Abraham’s bosom. You lay then under your lofty ceiling; but now you are in the fire of hell.

Let the rich hear these things — or rather, not the rich, but the pitiless. For he was not punished because he was rich, but because he showed no pity. It is possible for a man who is both rich and merciful to meet with every good thing. And that is why the rich man’s eyes were fixed on no one else but on him alone who had once begged alms from him: so that the memory of his former deeds might teach him that his punishment was just. Were there not ten thousand poor men who were righteous? But the one who had lain at his gate is the only one he sees, to teach him and us how great a good it is to put no trust in riches. His poverty did not keep the one from gaining the kingdom; his riches did not help the other escape hell.

Where is the point at which a man is poor? Where is the point at which he is reduced to begging? He is not — he is not poor who has nothing, but he who desires many things! He is not rich who has large possessions, but he who needs nothing. For what profit is there in possessing the whole world and yet living in greater dejection than the man who has nothing? It is people’s dispositions that make them rich or poor, not the abundance or the lack of money.

Would you, a poor man, become rich? You may have your wish, and no one can stop you. Despise the world’s wealth; count it as nothing, for it is nothing. Throw out the desire for wealth, and you are rich at once. He is rich who does not desire to become rich; the man who is unwilling to be poor is the poor man. The sick man is the one who laments his condition even in good health, not the one who bears his disease more lightly than others bear perfect health. In the same way the poor man is the one who cannot endure poverty but, in the midst of wealth, thinks himself poorer than the poor — not the one who bears his poverty more lightly than they bear their riches, for he is the richer man.

Tell me, why do you fear poverty? Why do you tremble? Is it not because of hunger? Is it not because of thirst? Is it not because of cold? Is it not for these very things? There is no one — there is no one — who is ever left destitute of these. “Look at the generations of old and see: did anyone ever trust in the Lord and find himself forsaken? Or did anyone hope in him and find himself put to shame?” (Sirach 2, verse 10). [p]

And again, “Look at the birds of the sky: they do not sow or reap or gather into barns, and your heavenly Father feeds them” (Matthew 6, verse 26). No one can easily point out to us anyone who has died of hunger and cold. Why then do you tremble at poverty? You cannot say. If you have enough of what is necessary, why do you tremble at it? Because you do not have a crowd of servants? Truly this is to be free of masters; this is lasting happiness, this is freedom from care. Is it because your dishes, your couches, your furniture are not made of silver? And what greater enjoyment than yours does the man who owns them have? None at all. The use is the same, whether they are made of this material or that.

Is it because you are not feared by the many? May you never be! What pleasure is there in having people stand in dread and fear of you? Is it because you are afraid of others? But you have no reason to be alarmed. For “Would you have no fear of the authority? Do what is good, and you will have praise from it” (Romans 13, verse 3). Does someone say: It is because we are looked down on and easily mistreated. It is not poverty that causes this, but wickedness. Many poor men have passed through life in quiet, while rulers and the rich and powerful have ended their days more wretchedly than any evildoers, than bandits, than grave robbers. What poverty brings in your case, wealth brings in theirs. What those who would mistreat you do because you are of no account, they do to him out of envy and the evil eye they cast on him — and the second more than the first, for envy is the stronger craving to mistreat another. The one who envies does everything with all his might and main, while the one who despises often even pities the one he despises; and the poor man’s very poverty and utter powerlessness have often been the cause of his rescue.

Sometimes, by saying to such a man, “What a great deed it will be if you do away with someone like that! If you kill one poor man, what vast advantage will you gain?” we can soften his anger in this way. But envy sets itself against the rich, and does not stop until it has had its way and poured out its venom. [q]

You see, then, that neither poverty nor wealth is good in itself, but our own disposition is. Let us bring it into good tune; let us train it in true wisdom. If it is in good order, riches cannot throw us out of the kingdom, and poverty will not make us fall short. We will bear our poverty with gentleness, and suffer no loss as regards the enjoyment of the good things to come, nor even here on earth. We will both enjoy what is good on earth and gain the good things in heaven. May we all gain them, through the grace and love for humankind of Jesus Christ our Lord, with whom be glory, power and honor to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, now and forever and ever. Amen.