Homily 13 — Philippians 3, verse 18, to 4, verse 3

“For many walk, of whom I told you often, and now tell you even weeping, that they are the enemies of the cross of Christ: whose end is destruction, whose god is the belly, and whose glory is in their shame, who set their minds on earthly things. For our citizenship is in heaven; from there also we wait for a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will reshape the body of our humiliation, so that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, according to the working by which he is able even to subject all things to himself.” [a]

Nothing is so out of place in a Christian, so foreign to his character, as to look for ease and rest. To be wrapped up in the present life is foreign to the faith we profess and to the army we enlisted in. Your Master was crucified, and you look for ease? Your Master was pierced with nails, and you live in luxury? Is this how a noble soldier behaves? That is why Paul says, “Many walk, of whom I told you often, and now tell you even weeping, that they are the enemies of the cross of Christ.” There were some who put on a show of being Christians but lived in ease and luxury, and this is the opposite of the cross. That is why he spoke this way. For the cross belongs to a soul standing at its post for the fight, longing to die, looking for nothing like ease; their conduct was just the opposite. So even if they say they are Christ’s, they are still, in a way, enemies of the cross. If they loved the cross, they would strive to live the crucified life.

Was your Master not hung on the tree? Then imitate him in another way. Crucify yourself, even if no one crucifies you. Crucify yourself — not so that you kill yourself; far from it, for that is a wicked thing — but as Paul said, “The world has been crucified to me, and I to the world” (Galatians 6, verse 14). If you love your Master, die his death.

Learn how great the power of the cross is: how many good things it has accomplished, and still does, and how it is the safety of our life. Everything is done through it. Baptism is through the cross, for we must receive that seal. The laying on of hands is through the cross. Whether we are traveling or at home, wherever we are, the cross is a great good: the armor of salvation, a shield that cannot be beaten down, a weapon to set against the devil. You carry the cross when you are at war with him — not simply when you seal yourself with it, but when you suffer the things that belong to the cross. Christ saw fit to call our sufferings by the name of the cross, as when he says, “Unless a man takes up his cross and follows me” (Matthew 16, verse 24) — that is, unless he is prepared to die.

But these men, being base, in love with life and in love with their bodies, are enemies of the cross. And everyone who is a friend of luxury and of safety in the present is an enemy of that cross in which Paul boasts, which he embraces, with which he longs to be made one — as when he says, “I am crucified to the world, and the world to me.” But here he says, “I now tell you weeping.” Why? Because the evil was pressing, because such people deserve tears. Truly those who live in luxury deserve tears. They fatten what is wrapped around them — I mean the body — and give no thought to the soul, which must give an account. [b]

Look: you live in luxury; look, you are drunk, today and tomorrow — for ten years, twenty, thirty, fifty, a hundred. That is impossible, but if you like, let us suppose it. What is the end of it? What is the gain? Nothing at all. Does it not deserve tears and lamentation, then, to lead such a life? God has brought us into this contest so that he may crown us, and we leave it without having done a single noble deed. That is why Paul weeps where others laugh and live for pleasure. So deeply does he feel for others; so much care does he take for everyone.

“Whose god,” he says, “is the belly.” That is the god they have! That is: “Let us eat and drink!” (First Corinthians 15, verse 32). Do you see how great an evil luxury is? For some their wealth is a god, for others their belly. Are these not idolaters too, and worse than ordinary ones? And their “glory is in their shame.” Some say this means circumcision. I do not think so. This is what it means: they boast of the very things they ought to be ashamed of. It is a terrible thing to do shameful deeds; yet to do them and be ashamed is only half as dreadful. But when someone even boasts of them, it is senselessness beyond all measure.

Do these words apply to them alone? Do those of us who are here escape the charge? Will no one have to give an account for these things? Does no one make a god of his belly, or glory in his shame? I wish — I earnestly wish — that none of these charges lay against us, and that I knew no one caught up in what I have said. But I fear that the words apply more to us than to the people of those times. For when someone spends his whole life drinking and reveling, and spends some small trifle on the poor while he spends the larger part on his belly, will these words not rightly apply to him? No words are more fit to catch the attention, or more cutting as a rebuke, than these: “Whose god is the belly, whose glory is in their shame.” [d]

And who are these? Those, he says, “who set their minds on earthly things.” “Let us build houses.” Where, I ask? On the earth, they answer. “Let us buy farms” — on the earth again. “Let us get power” — again on the earth. “Let us gain glory” — again on the earth. “Let us make ourselves rich” — all these things are on the earth. These are the people whose god is their belly. For if they have no spiritual thoughts, but have all their possessions here and set their minds on these things, it is with good reason that they have their belly for their god, saying, “Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die.”

Tell me: you grieve over your body because it is made of earth, though you are not harmed by that at all. Yet you drag your soul down to the earth, when you ought to make even your body spiritual — and you can, if you will. You were given a belly so that you might feed it, not stretch it; so that you might master it, not have it as your mistress; so that it might serve you in nourishing the other parts, not so that you might serve it, not so that you might go beyond all limits. When the sea breaks its bounds, it does not do as much harm as the belly does to our body, and to our soul along with it. The sea floods all the earth; the belly floods the whole body. Set moderation as a boundary for it, as God set the sand as a boundary for the sea. Then, if its waves rise and rage furiously, rebuke it with the power that is in you. See how God has honored you, so that you might imitate him — and you will not. Instead you watch the belly overflowing, destroying and drowning your whole nature, and you do not dare to hold it back or restrain it.

“Whose god,” he says, “is their belly.” Let us see how Paul served God; let us see how gluttons serve their belly. Do they not go through countless deaths of this kind? Are they not afraid to disobey any order it gives? Do they not serve it even beyond what is possible? Are they not worse than slaves?

“But our citizenship,” he says, “is in heaven.” So let us not look for ease here. It is there that we shine, where our citizenship is. “From there also,” he says, “we wait for a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will reshape the body of our humiliation, so that it may be conformed to the body of his glory.” Step by step he has lifted us up. He says “from heaven” and “our Savior,” showing the greatness of the matter both from the place and from the person. “Who will reshape the body of our humiliation,” he says. The body now suffers many things: it is bound in chains, it is whipped, it suffers countless evils. But the body of Christ suffered the same. This is what he hinted at when he said, “So that it may be conformed to the body of his glory.” So the body is the same, but it puts on incorruptibility. “Will reshape” — so the shape is different; or perhaps he is speaking figuratively of the change.

He says “the body of our humiliation” because it is now humbled, subject to destruction and to pain, because it seems worthless and to have nothing more than the other animals. “So that it may be conformed to the body of his glory.” What? Will this body of ours be shaped like him who sits at the right hand of the Father, like him whom the angels worship, before whom the bodiless powers stand, like him who is above all rule and authority and power? If, then, the whole world were to take up weeping and lamenting for those who have fallen from this hope, could it lament enough? For when we have been promised that our body will be made like his, it still goes off with the demons. From now on I give no thought to hell. Whatever can be said of it — once someone has fallen from so great a glory, count hell, from now on, as nothing compared with this falling away. [e]

What are you saying, Paul? Made like him? Yes. That is his answer. Then, so that you will not disbelieve, he adds a reason: “According to the working by which he is able even to subject all things to himself.” He has the power, he says, to subject all things to himself, and so destruction and death as well. Or rather, he does this too by the same power. For tell me, which requires the greater power: to subject demons and angels and archangels and cherubim and seraphim, or to make the body incorruptible and immortal? The latter, certainly, much more than the former. He has shown the greater works of his power so that you might believe these too.

So even if you see these men enjoying themselves and honored, stand firm; do not stumble over them; do not be shaken. These hopes of ours are enough to rouse even the most sluggish and lazy. Chapter 4, verse 1: “Therefore,” he says, “my brothers and sisters, beloved and longed for, my joy and crown, so stand firm in the Lord, my beloved.”

“So.” How? Unshaken. See how he adds praise after the exhortation: “my joy and my crown” — not simply joy but glory too, and not simply glory but my crown too. Nothing can equal that glory, since it is the crown of Paul. [f]

“So stand firm in the Lord, my beloved” — that is, in the hope of God.

Verses 2 and 3: “I urge Euodia, and I urge Syntyche, to be of the same mind in the Lord. Yes, I ask you also, true yokefellow, help these women.” Some say that Paul is urging his own wife here. That is not so; it is some other woman, or the husband of one of them. “Help these women, for they labored with me in the good news, with Clement also, and the rest of my fellow workers, whose names are in the book of life.” Do you see how great a testimony he gives to their virtue? As Christ says to his apostles, “Do not rejoice that the spirits are subject to you, but rejoice that your names are written in the book of life” (Luke 10, verse 20), so Paul testifies to them, saying, “whose names are in the book of life.”

These women seem to me to have been the leading members of the church there. He commends them to some notable man whom he calls his “yokefellow,” to whom perhaps he was in the habit of commending them, as to a fellow worker, a fellow soldier, a brother and a companion — as he does in the letter to the Romans, when he says, “I commend to you Phoebe our sister, who is a servant of the church that is at Cenchreae” (Romans 16, verse 1). “Yokefellow”: either some brother of theirs, or the husband of one of them — as if he had said, “Now you are a true brother, now a true husband, because you have become a member.”

“For they labored with me in the good news.” This protection came to them on their own account, not from friendship but for their good deeds. “Labored with me.” What are you saying? Did women labor with you? Yes, they too contributed no small share. That is his answer. There were many who worked together with him, yet these women too worked with him among the many. The churches in those days were greatly built up by this. For much good comes when those who have proved themselves, whether men or women, receive such honor from the rest. In the first place, the others were led on to the same zeal. In the second place, those who were honored gained something themselves from the respect shown them. And third, it made those very people more zealous and earnest. That is why you see Paul everywhere taking care over this, and commending such people to be held in regard — as he says in the letter to the Corinthians, “who are the firstfruits of Achaia” (First Corinthians 16, verse 15). [g]

Some say that the word “yokefellow” is a proper name. Well, what of it? Whether it is or not, we need not look into it closely. Let us notice instead that he gives orders for these women to receive a great deal of protection.

All we have, he says, is in the heavens: our Savior, our city, whatever anyone can name. “From there,” he says, “we wait for a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.” And this is an act of his kindness and of his love for humankind. He himself comes to us again. He does not drag us up there; he takes us, and so goes away with us. And this is a mark of great honor. For if he came to us when we were enemies, much more will he come now that we have become friends. He does not hand this over to the angels or to servants; he comes himself to call us to his royal palace. Look, we too “will be caught up in the clouds” (First Thessalonians 4, verse 17), doing him honor.

Who, then, will be found to be “the faithful and wise servant”? Who are those who will be counted worthy of such good things? How miserable are those who fall short! If we were to weep forever, would we do anything equal to the occasion? You could speak of countless hells, and you would name nothing equal to the pain the soul endures when the whole world is in upheaval, when the trumpets are sounding, when the angels are rushing forward — the first rank, then the second, then the third, then ten thousand ranks pouring out on the earth; then the cherubim (and these are many, beyond counting); the seraphim; when he himself is coming, with his glory beyond words; when those who had gone to gather the elect into the midst come to meet him; when Paul and his companions, and all who were approved in his day, are crowned, are proclaimed aloud, are honored by the King before all his heavenly host. Even if there were no hell, what a terrible thing it is that one part should be honored and the other dishonored! Hell, I admit, is unbearable — yes, utterly unbearable — but the loss of the kingdom is more unbearable than hell.

Consider this. Suppose some king, or a king’s son, went away and won countless wars and became the admiration of all. Suppose he came back to some city with his army complete, in his chariot, with his trophies, with his countless ranks of golden shields, with his spearmen and his bodyguard all around him. The whole city is decked with crowns; all the rulers of the world escort him; all the soldiers of foreign nations follow him as captives, then prefects and satraps. And in the presence of all these rulers and all that splendor, he welcomes the citizens who come out to meet him, kisses them, stretches out his hand, gives them free access to himself, and talks with them as with friends, while everyone stands around. He tells them that the whole campaign was undertaken for their sake, leads them into his palace, and gives them a share in it. Even if the rest were not punished, what punishment would this not equal? But if among men it would be a bitter thing to fall short of this glory, it is much more so with God — when all the heavenly powers are present with the King, when the demons are bound and hang their heads, when the devil himself is led along in chains, and every hostile force with him, when the powers of heaven and he himself come on the clouds.

Believe me, I cannot even finish what I am saying, because of the grief that seizes my soul as I tell it. Consider how great a glory we will be deprived of, when it is in our power not to be deprived of it. This is the misery of it: we suffer these things when it is in our power not to suffer them. When he receives the one part and leads them to his Father in heaven, and rejects the other, whom the angels take and drag away against their will, weeping and hanging their heads, to the fire of hell, after they have first been made a spectacle to the whole world — what grief do you think there is then?

Let us hurry, then, while there is time, and give great thought to our own salvation. How many things will we have to say, like the rich man! “If only someone would let us now, we would take thought for what is good for us!” But no one lets us. That we will say this is clear, not from him alone, but from many others. And so that you may learn this, think how many people, lying in a fever, have said, “If we recover, we will never again fall into the same state.” We will say many such words then, but we will be answered as the rich man was: that there is a gulf, that we have received our good things here (Luke 16, verses 25 and 26).

Let us groan, then, bitterly, I beg you — or rather, let us not only groan, but pursue virtue too. Let us lament now, for our salvation, so that we will not lament in vain then. Let us weep now, and not weep then over our evil lot. This weeping belongs to virtue; that one to a useless repentance. Let us afflict ourselves now, so that we will not be afflicted then. For it is not the same thing to be afflicted here and there. Here you are afflicted for a little while — or rather, you do not even feel your affliction, since you know that you are afflicted for your good. But there the affliction is more bitter, because it is not in hope, nor with any way out, but without limit and without end.

But may we all be set free from this and obtain forgiveness. Yet let us pray and be diligent, so that we may obtain that forgiveness. Let us be diligent, I beg you. For if we are diligent, we prevail even through our prayer; if we pray earnestly, God grants our request. But if we neither ask him, nor do anything of this kind earnestly, nor work, how could we ever succeed? By sleeping? Not at all. For it is a great thing if we are able to succeed even by running, and straining forward, and being conformed to his death, as Paul said — let alone by sleeping. “If by any means I may attain,” he says. But if Paul said, “If by any means I may attain,” what will we say? It is not possible to accomplish even worldly business by sleeping, let alone spiritual business. By sleeping one cannot receive anything even from friends, much less from God. Not even fathers honor those who sleep; much less does God. [j]

Let us labor for a little while, so that we may have rest forever. We must be afflicted in any case. If we are not afflicted here, it awaits us there. Why do we not choose to be afflicted here, so that there we may have rest and obtain the good things beyond words, in Christ Jesus, with whom, to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, power, and honor, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.