Homily 1 — Colossians 1, verses 1 to 8

“Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus through the will of God, and Timothy our brother, to the saints and faithful brothers and sisters in Christ who are at Colossae: Grace to you, and peace, from God our Father.” [a]

All of Paul’s letters are holy. But the ones he sent after he was in chains have a certain advantage: the ones, for instance, to the Ephesians and to Philemon, the one to Timothy, the one to the Philippians, and the one before us. For this one too was sent while he was a prisoner, since in it he writes, “for which I am also in chains, so that I may make it known as I ought to speak” (Colossians 4, verses 3 and 4).

This letter seems to have been written after the one to the Romans. He wrote to the Romans before he had seen them, but this letter after, and near the close of his preaching. That is clear from the following. In the letter to Philemon he says, “being such a one as Paul, an old man” (Philemon, verse 9), and makes a request for Onesimus; but in this one he sends Onesimus himself, as he says, “with Onesimus, the faithful and beloved brother” (Colossians 4, verse 9), calling him faithful, and beloved, and brother. That is also why he speaks so boldly in this letter of “the hope of the good news that you heard, which was preached in all creation under heaven” (Colossians 1, verse 23). For by then it had been preached for a long time.

I think, then, that the letter to Timothy was written after this one, when he had now come to the very end of his life, for there he says, “For I am already being poured out as an offering” (Second Timothy 4, verse 6). But this one is later than the letter to the Philippians, for in that letter he was just entering on his imprisonment at Rome.

But why do I say that these letters have an advantage over the rest because he writes them while in chains? It is as if a champion were to write in the midst of the slaughter and the victory; and that is truly what he did. He himself knew this was a great thing, for writing to Philemon he says, “whom I have fathered in my chains” (Philemon, verse 10). He said this so that we would not lose heart in adversity, but would even rejoice. [c]

Philemon lived in the same place as these Colossians. For in the letter to him he says, “and to Archippus our fellow soldier” (Philemon, verse 2), and in this one, “Say to Archippus” (Colossians 4, verse 17). This man seems to me to have been entrusted with some office in the church.

But he had not seen these people, or the Romans, or the Hebrews, when he wrote to them. That this is true of the others he shows in many places. As for the Colossians, listen to him saying, “and as many as have not seen my face in the flesh” (Colossians 2, verses 1 and 5), and again, “For though I am absent in the flesh, yet I am with you in the spirit.” So great a thing he knew his presence everywhere to be! Always, even when he is absent, he makes himself present.

So when he punishes the man guilty of sexual immorality, see how he seats himself on the judgment seat. “For I,” he says, “though absent in body but present in spirit, have already judged as though I were present” (First Corinthians 5, verse 3). And again: “I will come to you, and I will find out not the talk of those who are puffed up, but their power” (First Corinthians 4, verse 19). And again: “not only when I am present with you, but much more when I am absent” (Philippians 2, verse 12; Galatians 4, verse 18).

“Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ through the will of God.” [e]

It would be good also to say what we have found, from studying this letter, to be its occasion and its subject. What is it, then? They used to approach God through angels, and they kept many Jewish and Greek observances. These are the things he is correcting. That is why at the very outset he says, “through the will of God.” So here again he has used the word “through.”

“And Timothy the brother,” he says. So of course Timothy too was an apostle, and probably known to them as well. “To the saints who are at Colossae.” This was a city of Phrygia, as is plain from Laodicea’s being near it (Colossians 4, verse 16). “And faithful brothers and sisters in Christ.” He says: “What made you a saint? Tell me. What made you to be called faithful? Is it not that you were made holy through death? Is it not that you have faith in Christ? What made you a brother? For you did not show yourself faithful in deed, or in word, or in any achievement. Tell me, how is it that you have been entrusted with such great mysteries? Is it not because of Christ?”

“Grace to you and peace from God our Father.” Where does grace come to you from? Where does peace come from? “From God,” he says, “our Father.” Yet here he does not use the name of Christ. [h]

I will ask those who belittle the Spirit: How is God the Father of servants? Who accomplished these mighty things? Who made you a saint? Who made you faithful? Who made you a son of God? The one who made you worthy of trust is also the reason you have been entrusted with everything. For we are called faithful not only because we have faith, but also because God has entrusted us with mysteries that not even the angels knew before us. But to Paul it made no difference whether he put it this way or not.

Verse 3: “We give thanks to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.” He seems to me to refer everything to the Father so that what he has to say will not offend them right away.

“Praying always for you.” He shows his love not only by giving thanks but also by praying continually, since those he had never seen he carried continually within himself.

Verse 4: “Having heard of your faith in Christ Jesus.” A little earlier he said “our Lord.” He is saying, “He is the Lord, not the servants.” “Of Jesus Christ.” These names too are signs of his kindness to us, for, as it says, “he will save his people from their sins” (Matthew 1, verse 21). [j]

Verse 4: “Having heard of your faith in Christ Jesus, and of the love that you have toward all the saints.” He is already winning them over. It was Epaphroditus who brought him this report. But he sends the letter by Tychicus, keeping Epaphroditus with him. “And of the love,” he says, “that you have toward all the saints” — not toward this one or that one. So of course toward us as well.

Verse 5: “Because of the hope that is laid up for you in heaven.” He is speaking of the good things to come. He says this with their trials in view, so that they would not look for their rest here. In case anyone should say, “And what good is their love for the saints, if they themselves are suffering?” he says, “We rejoice that you are securing for yourselves a noble welcome in heaven.” “Because of the hope,” he says, “that is laid up.” He is showing how secure it is. “Of which you heard before in the word of the truth.” Here the expression sounds as though he meant to reproach them, as people who had moved away from it after holding it for a long time.

“Of which,” he says, “you heard before in the word of the truth of the good news.” And he bears witness to its truth — rightly, for there is nothing false in it. [m]

“Of the good news.” He does not say “of the preaching”; he calls it the “good news,” constantly reminding them of God’s kindnesses. Having first praised them, he next reminds them of these.

Verse 6: “Which has come to you, just as it has in all the world.” Now he gives them credit. He said “has come” figuratively. He means that it did not come and then go away, but stayed and remained there. Then, because for most people the strongest confirmation of a teaching is that they hold it in common with many others, he added, “as it is also in all the world.” It is present everywhere, victorious everywhere, established everywhere.

“And is bearing fruit and increasing, as it is among you also.” “Bearing fruit”: in works. “Increasing”: by many people joining, and by growing firmer; for plants begin to thicken once they have become firm.

“As also among you,” he says. He first wins the hearer over with praise, so that even if he is unwilling, he will not refuse to listen.

“Since the day you heard it.” How marvelous, that you came to it so quickly and believed, and at once, from the very first, showed its fruits!

“Since the day you heard and knew the grace of God in truth.” Not in word, he means, nor in deception, but in actual deeds. Either this, then, is what he means by “bearing fruit,” or else the signs and wonders. For as soon as you received it, you knew the grace of God. So then, when something gave proofs of its own power from the very first, is it not a hard thing that it should now be disbelieved?

Verse 7: “Just as you learned from Epaphras, our beloved fellow servant.” It is probable that he had preached there. “You learned” — the good news. Then, to show the man’s trustworthiness, he says, “our fellow servant.” “Who is a faithful servant of Christ on your behalf, who also told us of your love in the Spirit.”

He says: “Do not doubt the hope that is to come. You see that the world is being converted.” And why bring up the cases of others? What happened among you is in itself sufficient ground for belief, for “you knew the grace of God in truth,” that is, in works. So these two things — the belief of everyone, and your own as well — confirm the things to come. Nor was the fact one thing and what Epaphras said another.

“Who is,” he says, “faithful,” that is, true. How is he “a servant on your behalf”? Because he had gone to Paul. “Who also told us,” he says, “of your love in the Spirit,” that is, the spiritual love you have for us. If this man is Christ’s servant, how can you say that you approach God through angels?

“Who also told us,” he says, “of your love in the Spirit.” For this love is wonderful and steadfast; every other kind has only the name. There are some people whose love is not of this kind; but that is not friendship, and that is why it is easily broken.

There are many causes that produce friendship. We will pass over the shameful ones; no one will raise an objection against us on their behalf, since they are evil. But let us, if you like, review the natural ones, and the ones that arise from the dealings of life.

The social kind are these, for instance: a man receives a kindness, or inherits a friend from his forefathers, or has been someone’s companion at table or on a journey, or is his neighbor — and these are good; or he is in the same trade, though this last is not sincere, for it comes with a certain rivalry and envy. The natural kinds are such as that of father for son, son for father, brother for brother, grandfather for grandchild, mother for children; and, if you like, let us add that of wife for husband, for all the attachments of marriage also belong to this life and are earthly.

These last seem stronger than the first — seem, I said, because they are often outdone by them. For friends have at times shown a truer kindness than brothers, or than sons toward their fathers; and when the son a man had fathered would not help him, someone who did not even know him has stood by him and helped him.

But spiritual love is higher than them all, like a queen ruling her subjects, and her form is radiant. For she does not, like the others, have anything earthly for her parent — not constant company, not favors, not nature, not time. She comes down from above, out of heaven. And why are you surprised that she needs no favors to keep her in being, when not even injuries can overthrow her?

That this love is greater than the others, listen to Paul saying, “For I could wish that I myself were accursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my brothers” (Romans 9, verse 3). What father would have wished himself into such misery? And again: “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). What mother would have chosen to speak like that, with no regard for herself? And again, listen to him saying, “For being torn away from you for a short time, in person, not in heart” (First Thessalonians 2, verse 17). Here in the world, when a father has been insulted, he withdraws his love. Not so there: Paul went to those who had stoned him, seeking to do them good. [n]

For nothing, nothing is as strong as the bond of the Spirit. The man who became a friend by receiving favors will become an enemy if the favors stop. The one whom constant company made inseparable will let his friendship die out when the habit is broken. A wife, if a quarrel breaks out, will leave her husband and withdraw her affection. The son, when he sees his father living to a great age, grows impatient.

But in spiritual love there is nothing of this, for none of these things can dissolve it, since it is not made of them. Neither time, nor the length of a journey, nor ill treatment, nor being spoken against, nor anger, nor insult, nor anything else can make inroads on it or has the power to dissolve it. And so that you may know this: Moses was stoned, and yet he pleaded for them (Exodus 17, verse 4). What father would have done this for someone who stoned him, and would not rather have stoned him to death in return?

So let us pursue these friendships of the Spirit, for they are strong and hard to break, and not those that spring from the table, for these we are forbidden to carry over into the world to come. For listen to Christ saying in the Gospel, “When you give a feast, do not invite your friends or your neighbors, but the lame and the maimed” (Luke 14, verse 12). And rightly, for the reward for these is great. [p]

But you cannot bring yourself to it; you cannot bear to feast with the lame and the blind. You think it a burden and distasteful, and you refuse. It would be best, of course, not to refuse; still, it is not strictly necessary to do it. If you do not seat them with you, send them some of the dishes from your own table.

The man who invites his friends has done nothing great, for he has received his reward here. But the one who has invited the maimed and the poor has God as his debtor. So let us not be sorry when we receive no reward here, but when we do; for then we will have nothing more to receive there. In the same way, if a human being repays, God does not; if a human being does not repay, then God will repay.

So let us not look for people who are able to repay us when we do good, and let us not give our favors to them with that expectation; that would be a lame way of thinking. If you invite a friend, the gratitude lasts until evening, and so the friendship of the moment is used up faster than the bills are paid. But if you invite the poor and the maimed, the gratitude will never perish, for you have God himself as your debtor, who always remembers and never forgets.

What squeamishness is this, tell me, that you cannot sit down to eat with the poor? What do you say? He is unclean and filthy? Then wash him and bring him up to your table. But his clothes are filthy? Then change them and give him clean clothes. Don’t you see how great the gain is? Christ comes to you through him, and are you making petty calculations over such things? When you are inviting the King to your table, are you afraid because of things like these?

Let us imagine two tables. Let one be filled with these people: the blind, the lame, those maimed in hand or foot, the barefoot, those dressed in a single scanty garment, and that one worn out. Let the other have great men, generals, governors, high officials, dressed in costly robes and fine linen, with belts of gold.

Again, here at the table of the poor, let there be no silver and no great store of wine, but just enough to refresh and cheer, and let the cups and the other vessels be of glass only. But there, at the table of the rich, let all the vessels be of silver and gold, and let there be the half-moon table — not one that a single person can lift, but one that two young men can hardly move — and let the wine jars stand in rows, gleaming with gold far more than with silver, and let the whole half-moon be spread smoothly with soft coverings.

At the rich table, again, let there be many servants, dressed no less finely than the guests, splendidly clothed and wearing loose trousers, handsome to look at, in the very flower of youth, plump and sleek; but at the other let there be only two servants, who disdain all that proud show. And let the guests at the first have costly meats, and those at the other only enough to satisfy hunger and put them in good spirits.

Have I said enough? Are both tables laid out in sufficient detail? Is anything missing? I think not. I have gone over the guests, and the costliness of the vessels, and of the linen, and of the meats. However, if we have left anything out, we will find it as we go on with the sermon.

Come, then, now that we have drawn each table properly in outline, let us see at which you will take your seats. For my part, I am going to the table of the blind and the lame; but most of you, probably, will choose the other, the generals’ table, so bright and splendid. So let us see which of them has more pleasure. For the present let us not examine the things of the life to come, since in those, at least, mine is superior. Why? Because at this one he sits down, and at the other, men: this one has the Master, that one the servants. [r]

But let us say nothing of these things yet; let us see which has more pleasure now. Even in this respect this pleasure is greater, for it is more pleasant to sit down with a King than with his servants. But let us set this consideration aside too, and examine the matter simply by itself.

I, then, and those who choose the same table as I do, will say and hear everything with great freedom and ease of mind. But you, trembling and afraid and ashamed before those you sit with, will not even dare to reach out your hands, just as if you had come to school and not to dinner, as if you were trembling before terrifying schoolmasters. It will not be so with them.

But someone says: “But the honor is great.” No, I am the one who has more honor. For your low standing looks all the greater when, even while sharing the same table, the words you speak are those of slaves.

For a servant shows most of all that he is a servant when he sits down with his master, since he is in a place where he does not belong. Such familiarity gives him less dignity than humiliation; he is then brought exceedingly low. You can see a servant look fine on his own, and a poor man seem splendid on his own, more than when he is walking beside a rich man. For the lowly look lowly when they are near the lofty, and putting them side by side makes the low look lower, not loftier. So too your sitting down with them makes you seem of even meaner rank. But it is not so with us. [s]

In these two things, then, we have the advantage, in freedom and in honor, and nothing equals these for pleasure. I, at least, would rather have a crust with freedom than countless delicacies with slavery. For as someone says, “Better is a dinner of vegetables with love and kindness than a fattened ox with hatred” (Proverbs 15, verse 17).

For whatever those people say, the guests must praise it or give offense; and so they take the rank of hangers-on, or rather, they are worse than hangers-on. For hangers-on, even though it is with shame and insult, still have freedom to speak; but you do not have even this. Your humiliation is just as great as theirs, for you are afraid and you cringe; but your honor is not. Surely, then, that table is stripped of every pleasure, while this one is full of every delight of the soul.

But let us examine the nature of the food itself. There, one has to burst oneself with the great quantity of wine, even against one’s will; but here no one who does not want to need eat or drink. So there, the pleasure that comes from the quality of the food is canceled by the humiliation that comes before it and the discomfort that follows the overeating. For overeating wrecks and racks our bodies no less than hunger — in fact far more grievously. Give me anyone you like, and I will destroy him more easily by bursting him with overeating than by hunger.

For hunger is easier to bear than the other: a man might endure hunger for twenty days, but overeating not even for two. The country people, who are constantly struggling with hunger, are healthy and need no doctors; but overeating no one can bear without constantly calling in doctors — and indeed its tyranny has often defeated even their efforts to rescue.

So as far as pleasure is concerned, this table of mine has the advantage. For if honor has more pleasure than dishonor, authority than subjection, manly confidence than trembling and fear, and the enjoyment of enough than being plunged out of one’s depth in a flood of luxury, then on the score of pleasure this table is better than the other. It is also better as to expense, for the other is costly, and this one is not.

But what? Is this table more pleasant only to the guests, or does it also bring more pleasure than the other to the one who invites them? For that is what we are really asking.

The man who invites those guests makes his preparations many days beforehand. He is forced to have trouble and anxious thoughts and cares, sleeping neither by night nor resting by day, making many plans with himself, conferring with cooks, pastry makers and those who dress the tables. Then, when the day itself comes, you can see him more afraid than men about to fight a boxing match: afraid that something will turn out otherwise than he expected, that he will be struck by the glance of envy, that he will bring a crowd of critics down on himself by it. But the other man escapes all this anxiety and trouble by setting his table on the spur of the moment, without worrying about it for many days beforehand.

And then, after this, the first man has at once lost the gratitude owed him; but the other has God as his debtor, and is nourished with good hopes, feasting every day from that table. For the food is used up, but the thankful memory is never used up; every day he rejoices and exults more than those who are gorged with their excess of wine. For nothing nourishes the soul like a virtuous hope and the expectation of good things.

But now let us consider what comes next. At that table there are flutes and harps and pipes. Here there is no music of unfitting sounds. What, then? Hymns, and the singing of psalms. There, the songs are sung to the demons; here, to the Lord of all, God. Do you see how full of gratitude this table is, and how full of ingratitude and senselessness that one? For tell me: when God has fed you with his good things, and you ought to give him thanks after you have eaten, do you actually bring in the demons? For these songs to the lyre are nothing other than songs to demons. When you ought to say, “Blessed are you, O Lord, for you have fed me with your good things,” do you, like a worthless dog, not so much as remember him, and on top of that bring in the demons? [t]

Or rather — dogs, whether they are given anything or not, fawn on those they know, and you do not do even this. The dog, though he receives nothing, fawns on his master; but you, even when you have received, bark at him. Again, the dog, even if a stranger treats him well, will not give up his hostility even so, or let himself be coaxed into friendship. But you, though you suffer countless injuries from the demons, bring them into your feasts. So in two ways you are worse than a dog. And it is fitting that I have brought up dogs, for the sake of those who give thanks only at the moment they receive a benefit. Be ashamed, I beg you, before the dogs, which fawn on their masters even when they go hungry. But you, if you happen to hear that a demon has cured someone, immediately desert your Master. You are more unreasoning than the dogs!

But someone says: “The prostitutes are a pleasure to look at.” What sort of pleasure are they? Or rather, what disgrace are they not? Your house has become a brothel, a place of madness and fury, and are you not ashamed to call this pleasure? If you are allowed to make use of them, then greater than all the pleasure is the shame, and the misery that comes from the shame: to make one’s house a brothel, like hogs wallowing in the mire. But if you are allowed only to look at them, then again the pain is greater. For there is no pleasure in seeing where one may not use; the craving only grows greater, and the flame fiercer.

But would you like to know how it ends? The guests at that table, when they get up from it, are like madmen and people who have lost their wits: reckless, quarrelsome, laughingstocks even to the slaves. The servants go home sober, but these men go home drunk. What a disgrace! At the other table there is nothing of the kind. They close the meal with thanksgiving and so go to their homes, sleeping with pleasure and waking with pleasure, free from all shame and reproach.

If you consider the guests themselves as well, you will see that the one set are inwardly just what the others are outwardly: blind, maimed, lame. As the bodies of the poor guests are, such are the souls of the rich ones, suffering from dropsy and inflammation. For pride is a disease of that kind: after the self-indulgence comes a maiming. Gorging and drunkenness are of that kind too, making men lame and maimed. And you will see as well that the poor have souls like the bodies of the rich, splendid and adorned. For those who live giving thanks, who seek nothing beyond what is enough, whose philosophy is of this kind, are bright all through. [u]

But let us look at how it ends, both here and there. There you have unchaste pleasure, loose laughter, drunkenness, buffoonery, filthy talk (for since they are ashamed to talk filth themselves, they get it done through the prostitutes). But here there is kindness to others, and gentleness. Beside the man who invites those guests stands empty glory, arming him; beside the other stand kindness and gentleness. For kindness lays the one table, but empty glory and cruelty lay the other, out of injustice and greed. And that table ends as I have said, in loss of wits, in delirium, in madness (for these are the offshoots of empty glory); but this one ends in thanksgiving and the glory of God.

And the praise that comes from people also attends this man more abundantly. For the other is even looked on with envy, but this one everyone regards as their common father, even those who have received no benefit from him. Just as with those who have been wronged, even people who have not been wronged feel for them, and all together become enemies of the one who wronged them, so too, when some receive kindness, those who have received none praise and admire the one who gave it no less than those who have. There, there is much envy; here, much tender concern, and many prayers from everyone.

So much for this life. But in the world to come, when Christ comes, this man will stand with great confidence and will hear before the whole world, “You saw me hungry and fed me; naked, and clothed me; a stranger, and took me in” (Matthew 25, verse 35), and all the words like these. But the other will hear the opposite: “You wicked and lazy servant” (Matthew 25, verse 26); and again, “Woe to those who live in luxury on their couches and sleep on beds of ivory, and drink refined wine, and anoint themselves with the finest ointments; they counted these things as lasting, and not as fleeting” (Amos 6, verses 4, 5 and 6, as the Greek Old Testament has it). [w]

I have not said this without purpose, but to change your minds, so that you will do nothing that bears no fruit. “What, then, if I do both the one and the other?” Everyone falls back on this argument. But tell me, what need is there, when everything could be spent usefully, to divide it up, spending part on what is not needed — and not only not needed, but to no purpose at all — and part usefully? Tell me: if, when you were sowing, you threw some seed on rock and some on very good ground, is it likely you would have been content with that, and said, “Where is the harm if we throw some away to no purpose and some on very good ground?” Why not all of it on the very good ground? Why lessen the gain? If you have occasion to be gathering money, you do not talk that way; you gather it from every quarter. But in this other case you do not do so. And if you are lending at interest, you do not say, “Why don’t we give some to the poor and some to the rich?” All of it goes to the first of these. Yet in the case before us, where the gain is so great, you do not reason this way. Will you not at last stop spending to no purpose and laying out money with no return?

But someone says: “This has a gain too.” Of what kind? Tell me. “It increases friendships.” No friends are colder than those made friends by these things, by the table and by gorging. The friendships of hangers-on are born from that source alone. [y]

Do not insult so marvelous a thing as love, and do not say that this is its root. It is as if someone said that a tree bearing gold and precious stones did not have a root of the same kind, but had sprung from rot. That is what you are doing. For even if friendship were born from that source, nothing could possibly be colder. But those other tables produce friendship, not with man, but with God, and an intense one at that, if you are intent on preparing them. For the man who spends part this way and part that way, even if he has given much, has done nothing great. But the man who spends everything this way, even if he has given little, has done the whole. For what is required is not that we give much or little, but that we give no less than is in our power.

Let us think of the man with the five talents, and of the man with the two (Matthew 25, verse 15). Let us think of the woman who threw in those two small coins (Mark 12, verse 41). Let us think of the widow in Elijah’s days (First Kings 17). The woman who threw in those two small coins did not say, “What harm is there if I keep one coin for myself and give the other?” She gave her whole living. But you, in the midst of such great plenty, are stingier than she was.

So let us not be careless of our own salvation, but let us devote ourselves to almsgiving. For nothing is better than this, as the time to come will show; and meanwhile the present shows it too. So let us live for the glory of God, and do the things that please him, so that we may be counted worthy of the good things that are promised. May we all obtain them, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and power and honor, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.