Homily 8 — Colossians 3, verses 5 to 15

“Put to death your members which are upon the earth: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil craving, and greed, which is idolatry. Because of these things the wrath of God comes upon the sons of disobedience. In these you also once walked, when you lived in these things.” [a]

I know that many were offended by what I said last time. But what can I do? You heard what the Master commanded. Am I to blame? What am I to do? Do you not see creditors, when their debtors are stubborn, how they wear collars? Did you hear what Paul proclaimed today? “Put to death,” he says, “your members which are upon the earth: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil craving, and greed, which is idolatry.” What is worse than greed of that kind? It is worse than any craving. It is more grievous still than what I was speaking of, that madness, that silly weakness for silver. “And greed,” he says, “which is idolatry.” See where the evil ends.

Please do not take what I said the wrong way. I would not make enemies willingly, or without reason. But I wanted you to reach such virtue that I might hear of you the things I ought to hear. So I did not say it to show my authority, or out of a love of giving orders, but out of pain and sorrow. Forgive me, forgive me! I have no wish to offend against decency by speaking on such subjects, but I am forced to.

It is not for the sake of the poor and their sorrows that I say these things, but for your salvation. For they will perish — yes, they will perish — who have not fed Christ. What does it matter if you feed some poor man, as long as you go on living in such pleasure and luxury? It is all for nothing. What is required is not that you give much, but that you not give too little for the wealth you have. Anything less is only playing at it. [d]

“Put to death, therefore,” he says, “your members which are upon the earth.” What are you saying? Was it not you who said, “You are buried; you are buried together with him; you are circumcised; we have put off the body of the sins of the flesh” (Colossians 2, verses 11 and 12; Romans 6, verse 4)? How is it, then, that you say again, “Put to death”? Are you joking? Do you talk this way as though those things were still in us?

There is no contradiction. Imagine someone who has scoured clean a statue that was filthy — or rather, who has recast it and shown it bright again — and who says that the rust has been eaten away and destroyed, and yet urges you once more to be diligent about clearing away rust. He does not contradict himself. It is not the rust he scoured off that he urges you to clear away, but the rust that has grown since. In the same way, Paul is not speaking of that earlier putting to death, or of those earlier acts of sexual immorality, but of the ones that grow up afterward.

He had said that this is not our life, but another life, the one in heaven. Now tell me: when he said, “Put to death your members which are upon the earth,” is the earth itself being accused? Or does he call the things upon the earth sins in themselves? [f]

“Sexual immorality, impurity,” he says. He has passed over the acts that it is not proper even to mention, and with the word “impurity” he has covered them all together.

“Passion,” he said, “evil craving.” Look! He has taken in the whole under its general kind. For envy, anger, sorrow — all of these are “evil craving.”

“And greed,” he says, “which is idolatry. Because of these things the wrath of God comes upon the sons of disobedience.”

He had been drawing them away by many means: by the benefits already given; by the evils to come, from which we had been delivered; by who we are, and for what purpose; and by all those other considerations — who we were, for instance, and in what condition, and that we were delivered from it, and how, and in what way, and on what terms. These were enough to turn anyone away. But this reason has more force than all of them. It is unpleasant to speak of, yes, but it does no harm; in fact it is useful. “Because of these things,” he says, “the wrath of God comes upon the sons of disobedience.” He did not say “upon you,” but “upon the sons of disobedience.”

“In which you also once walked, when you lived in them.” He says “when you lived in them” to shame them, and at the same time to praise them as people who no longer live that way: back then, they might well have. [h]

Verse 8: “But now you too must put away all these.”

He always speaks both in general and in particular, and this comes from his earnestness.

Verses 8 and 9: “Anger, wrath, malice, abuse, shameful talk out of your mouth. Do not lie to one another.”

“Shameful talk,” he says, “out of your mouth,” plainly hinting that it defiles the mouth.

Verses 9 and 10: “Seeing that you have put off the old man with his deeds, and have put on the new man, which is being renewed to knowledge after the image of him who created him.”

It is worth asking here why he calls the corrupt life “members,” and “man,” and “body,” and then gives the same names to the life of virtue. And if “the man” means “sins,” how is it that he says “with his deeds”? For in saying “the old man,” he showed that this is not the man, but the other is. It is a person’s moral choice, rather than his substance, that defines him; the choice is more truly “the man” than the substance is. For his substance does not throw him into hell or lead him into the kingdom; his choice does. And we neither love nor hate anyone insofar as he is a man, but insofar as he is this or that kind of man. If, then, the substance is the body, and in neither case can it be held to account, how can Paul say that it is evil?

But what does he mean by “with his deeds”? He means the choice together with the acts. He calls him “old” on purpose to show how deformed he is, how ugly and how feeble. And he calls the other “new,” as if to say: do not expect it to go with this one as it did with the other, but the reverse. The further he advances, the more he hurries, not toward old age, but toward a youthfulness greater than before. For when he has received a fuller knowledge, he is counted worthy of greater things, and stands in a more complete maturity and in fuller vigor. And this comes not from his youth alone, but also from that “likeness” after which he is made. Look: the best life is called a creation, after the image of Christ. That is the meaning of “after the image of him who created him.” For Christ too never came to old age at last, but was so beautiful that it cannot even be told.

Verse 11: “Where there cannot be Greek and Jew, circumcision and uncircumcision, barbarian, Scythian, slave, free; but Christ is all, and in all.” [k]

Look, here is a third word of praise for this “man.” With him no difference is admitted, whether of nation, or of rank, or of ancestry, since he has nothing to do with outward things and has no need of them. For all outward things are of this kind: “circumcision and uncircumcision, slave, free, Greek” — that is, the convert — “and Jew” — the one who is so by his ancestors. If you have only this “man,” you will obtain the same things as the others who have him.

“But Christ,” he says, “is all, and in all.” Christ will be all things to you, both rank and descent, and he himself will be “in you all.” Or he is saying something else: that you have all become one Christ, being his body.

Verse 12: “Put on, therefore, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved.” He shows how easy virtue is, so that they may both keep it always and wear it as their greatest ornament. The encouragement comes with praise, too, for then it has its greatest force. They had been holy before, but not chosen; now they are both “chosen, and holy, and beloved.”

“A heart of compassion.” He did not say “mercy,” but used the two words, for greater force. And he did not say it should be as toward brothers, but as fathers toward children. Do not tell me, “He sinned.” That is exactly why he said “a heart.” And he did not say “compassion” alone, so as not to make the thing seem slight, but “a heart of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, patience; bearing with one another, and forgiving each other, if anyone has a complaint against anyone: even as Christ forgave you, so you also must do.” [l]

Again he speaks by general kinds, as he always does; for from kindness comes humility, and from humility, patience. “Bearing with one another,” he says — that is, passing things over. And see how he has shown the matter to be nothing, by calling it a “complaint,” and by saying, “even as Christ forgave you.” Great is the example! He always does this: he urges them on by Christ’s example. He calls it a “complaint.” With that word he showed it to be a petty matter; but by setting the example before us, he has convinced us that even if we had serious charges to bring, we ought to forgive. That is what the words “even as Christ” mean — and not only this, but that we should forgive with all our heart; and not only this, but that we ought even to love.

For when Christ is brought into the middle, he brings all these things with him: that even if the matters are great, even if we were not the first to do wrong, even if we are people of standing and they of no account, even if they are sure to insult us again afterward, we ought to lay down our lives for them — for the words “even as” demand this — and that we ought not to stop even at death, but, if it were possible, go on even after death.

Verse 14: “And above all these things put on love, which is the bond of perfection.”

Do you see why he says this? It is possible to forgive someone and not love him. “Yes,” he says, “you must love him too.” And he points out a way by which forgiving becomes possible. For it is possible for someone to be kind, gentle, humble, and patient, and yet not loving. That is why he said at the start, “a heart of compassion” — both love and pity. “And above all these things, love, which is the bond of perfection.”

What he means is this: there is no profit in those other things, for they all fall apart unless they are done with love. Love is what clamps them all together. Name any good thing you like: if love is absent, it is nothing; it melts away. It is like a ship: however large her rigging, if there are no girding ropes, it is of no use. It is the same with a house, if there are no tie beams; and with a body, however large the bones, if there are no ligaments, they are of no use. Whatever good deeds a person may have, they all vanish away if love is not there.

He did not say that love is the summit, but something greater: “the bond.” This is more necessary than the other. For the “summit” is the highest pitch of perfection, but the “bond” holds together the very things that produce perfection. It is, as it were, the root.

Verse 15: “And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to which also you were called in one body; and be thankful.” [m]

“The peace of God.” This is the peace that is fixed and steady. If you have peace for human reasons, it soon falls apart; but if for God’s sake, never. Although he had spoken of love in general, he comes back again to the particular. For there is also a love that goes beyond measure: for instance, when out of great love someone makes accusations without reason, gets into quarrels, and takes dislikes. “Not this,” he says, “not this is what I want — no overdoing things. But as God made peace with you, so you also must make it.” How did he make peace? Of his own will, without receiving anything from you.

What does this mean: “Let the peace of God rule in your hearts”? If two thoughts are fighting it out, do not appoint anger, do not appoint spite, to award the prize, but peace. Suppose, for instance, someone has been insulted unjustly. From the insult two thoughts are born: one tells him to take revenge, the other to endure. These two wrestle with each other. If the peace of God steps forward as umpire, it gives the prize to the one that says to endure, and puts the other to shame. How? By persuading him that God is peace, and that he has made peace with us.

It is not without reason that he shows how great the struggle in this matter is. “Do not let anger act as umpire,” he says, “or quarrelsomeness, or human peace.” For human peace comes from taking revenge, from not having suffered anything dreadful. “That is not what I mean,” he says, “but the peace that he himself left us.” He has pictured an arena inside us, in our thoughts, with a contest, a wrestling match, and an umpire.

Then comes encouragement again: “to which you were called,” he says, that is, for the sake of which you were called. He has reminded them how many good things peace brings about. On account of this he called you; for this he called you, so that you might receive a worthy prize. For why did he make us “one body”? Was it not so that peace might rule? Was it not so that we might have every reason to be at peace? Why are we all one body? And how are we one body? Because of peace we are one body, and because we are one body we are at peace.

But why did he not say, “Let the peace of God be victorious,” but “be umpire”? He gave peace the greater honor. He would not have the evil thought come to wrestle with her, but stand below her. And the very word “prize” cheered the hearer. For once she has given the prize to the good thought, however shamelessly the other may behave, it does him no good from then on. Besides, the other thought, knowing that whatever feats he performs he will not receive the prize, however much he blusters and makes still fiercer attacks, will give up, as one laboring for nothing.

And he did well to add, “And be thankful.” For this is what it is to be thankful, and truly thankful: to treat one’s fellow servants as God treats oneself; to submit to the Master and obey him; to give thanks for everything, even if someone insults him or beats him.

For in truth, the one who acknowledges that he owes God thanks for what he suffers will not take revenge on the one who has wronged him; since the one who takes revenge, at any rate, shows no gratitude. But let us not follow the man who demanded the hundred denarii, or we will hear, “You wicked servant!” For nothing is worse than this ingratitude. So those who take revenge are ungrateful. [o]

But why did he begin his list with sexual immorality? Having said, “Put to death your members which are upon the earth” (Colossians 3, verse 5), he at once says, “sexual immorality”; and he does so almost everywhere. It is because this passion holds the greatest sway. When he wrote his letter to the Thessalonians, he did the same (First Thessalonians 4, verse 3). And why wonder at it, since even to Timothy he says, “Keep yourself pure” (First Timothy 5, verse 22), and again elsewhere, “Pursue peace with all people, and holiness, without which no one will see the Lord” (Hebrews 12, verse 14)?

“Put to death,” he says, “your members.” You know what a dead thing is like: hated, loathed, falling to decay. If you put anything to death, it does not stay merely dead, but soon rots away, like the body. Put out the heat, then, and nothing of what is dead will last. He shows each of us taking in hand the same work that Christ did in the washing. That is also why he calls them “members,” as though bringing some fighter onto the field, and so pressing his words home with greater force.

And he did well to say, “which are upon the earth”; for it is here that they remain, and here that they rot, far more than these bodily members of ours. So the body is not so truly of the earth as sin is earthly. The body at times even looks beautiful; those members, never. And those members crave everything that is upon the earth. If the eye is of that kind, it does not see the things in the heavens; the same with the ear, or the hand, or any other member you care to name. The eye sees bodies, and beauty, and riches; these are the things of earth, and in these it delights. The ear delights in soft music, the harp and the pipe, and filthy talk; these are things that belong to the earth.

So when he has placed his hearers above, near the throne, he then says, “Put to death your members which are upon the earth.” For it is not possible to stand above with these members; there is nothing up there for them to work on. And this clay is worse than that other clay. That clay becomes gold — “for this perishable,” he says, “must put on imperishability” (First Corinthians 15, verse 53) — but this clay can never be remade. So these members are more truly “upon the earth” than the others. [r]

That is why he did not say “of the earth,” but “which are upon the earth”: for it is possible for our bodily members not to be upon the earth. Sins must be “upon the earth”; our members need not be. When the ear hears nothing of what is spoken here, but only what is spoken in the heavens; when the eye sees nothing of what is here, but only what is above — then it is not “upon the earth.” When the mouth speaks of nothing here, it is not “upon the earth.” When the hand does nothing evil, these are not among the things “upon the earth,” but among those in the heavens.

So Christ also says, “If your right eye makes you stumble” — that is, if you look with unchaste eyes — “cut it out” (Matthew 5, verse 29); that is, cut out your evil thought. And Paul seems to me to mean one and the same thing by “sexual immorality, impurity, passion, craving”: namely, sexual immorality, drawing us away from that one thing by all these words. For truly this is “a passion.” Just as the body is subject to any ailment, whether fever or wounds, so it is with this. [t]

And he did not say “Restrain,” but “Put to death,” so that they may never rise again; and “put them away.” What is dead, we put away. For instance, if there are calluses on the body, that flesh is dead, and we put it away. Now if you cut into what is living, it causes pain; but if into what is dead, we do not even feel it. So it is, in truth, with the passions: they make the soul unclean; they make the soul, which is immortal, subject to suffering.

How greed can be called idolatry we have explained many times. For the things that most of all lord it over the human race are these: greed, unchastity, and evil craving. “Because of these things,” he says, “the wrath of God comes upon the sons of disobedience.” He calls them sons of disobedience to take away their excuse, and to show that it was because they would not obey that they were in that state. “In which you also once walked,” he says — and afterward became obedient. He marks them as still in them, and yet praises them, saying, “But now you too must put away all these: anger, wrath, malice, abuse, shameful talk.” But he turns his words against others. By “passion” and “abuse” he means insults, just as by “wrath” he means wickedness. And elsewhere, to shame them, he says, “for we are members of one another” (Ephesians 4, verse 25). [u]

He makes them out to be, as it were, makers of men: throwing away this one and taking up that one. He spoke of a man’s “members” (verse 5); here he says “all.” He spoke of the heart, wrath, the mouth, blasphemy, the eyes, sexual immorality, greed, hands and feet, lying, the understanding itself, and the old mind. One royal form the new man has: the form of Christ. The people he has in mind seem to me to be Gentiles, rather. For just as earth that is only sand — whether one part is bigger and another smaller — loses its former form and afterward becomes gold; and just as wool of whatever kind takes on another look and hides its former one: so truly it is with the faithful.

“Bearing with one another,” he says; he shows what is fair. You bear with him, and he with you. So he says in the letter to the Galatians, “Bear one another’s burdens” (Galatians 6, verse 2). “And be thankful,” he says. For this is what he looks for everywhere, above all: the chief of good things.

So let us give thanks in all things, whatever may happen; for this is thankfulness. To do it in good times is no great thing, since the very nature of the circumstances pushes one to it. But when we give thanks in the worst of straits, then it is admirable. When, in circumstances where others blaspheme and cry out in complaint, we give thanks — see how great a philosophy that is! [v]

First, you have gladdened God. Next, you have put the devil to shame. Third, you have made what happened into nothing at all. For at one and the same moment you give thanks, God cuts short the pain, and the devil leaves. If you cry out in complaint, the devil stands right beside you, as one who has got his wish, and God, as one blasphemed, leaves you, and your misfortune grows heavier. But if you give thanks, the devil goes away, having gained nothing, and God, being honored, repays you with greater honor.

And it is not possible for a man who gives thanks for his troubles to feel them. His soul rejoices, knowing it is doing what is right. At once his conscience shines; it delights in its own good report; and a soul that shines cannot possibly wear a gloomy face. But in the other case, along with the misfortune, his conscience too lays into him with its whip; while in this case it crowns him and proclaims him.

Nothing is holier than the tongue that gives thanks to God in the midst of evils. Truly, it falls short of a martyr’s tongue in nothing; both are crowned alike, this one and theirs. For over this tongue too an executioner stands, to force it to deny God by blasphemy. The devil stands over it, torturing it with thoughts that act as his executioners, and darkening it with dejection. So if someone bears his griefs and gives thanks, he has won a martyr’s crown. [w]

For example, is her little child sick, and does she give God thanks? This is a crown to her. What torture is so bad that dejection is not worse? And yet it does not force her to pour out a bitter word. The child dies, and again she gives thanks. She has become a daughter of Abraham. For even if she did not sacrifice with her own hand, she was content with the sacrifice, which is the same thing; she felt no resentment when the gift was taken away.

Again, is her child sick, and she has made no amulets? It is counted to her as martyrdom, for in her resolve she sacrificed her son. For what if those things are useless, a mere cheat and a mockery? There were still people who tried to persuade her that they work, and she chose rather to see her child dead than to put up with idolatry. So just as she is a martyr, whether she has acted this way in her own case, or in her son’s, or her husband’s, or that of anyone else dearest to her, so the other woman is an idolater. For it is clear that she would have offered sacrifice, if she had been allowed to offer sacrifice. Or rather, she has already performed the act of sacrifice.

As for these amulets, those who make money by them are forever reasoning about them and saying, “We call on God, and we do nothing out of the ordinary,” and the like. And one of them says, “The old woman is a Christian, and one of the faithful.” The thing is idolatry. Are you one of the faithful? Make the sign of the cross. Say: “This is my only weapon; this is my remedy; I know no other.” Tell me, if a physician came to someone and, neglecting the remedies that belong to his art, used incantations, would we call that man a physician? By no means, for we do not see the medicines of the healing art. So neither, in this case, do we see those of Christianity.

Other women tie the names of rivers around themselves, and venture countless other things of the same kind. Look, I tell you and warn you all beforehand: if anyone is caught, I will not spare them any longer, whether they have made an amulet, or an incantation, or anything else of an art like this. [x]

“What then? Is the child to die?” If he lives by this means, then he has died; and if he dies without it, then he has lived. As things are, if you see him attaching himself to prostitutes, you wish him buried and say, “Why, what good is it for him to live?” But when you see him in danger of losing his salvation, do you want to see him live? Did you not hear Christ saying, “Whoever loses his life will find it, and whoever finds it will lose it” (Matthew 16, verse 25)? Do you believe these sayings, or do they seem like fables to you? Tell me now, if someone said, “Take him away to an idol’s temple, and he will live,” would you put up with it? “No!” she replies. Why not?

“Because,” she says, “that would be urging me to commit idolatry. But here there is no idolatry, only a simple incantation.” This is Satan’s device. This is the devil’s cunning: to cloak the deception and give the deadly drug in honey. When he found that he could not win you over the other way, he went around by this road, to stitched charms and old wives’ tales. And so the cross is dishonored, and these charms are preferred to it. Christ is thrown out, and a drunken, silly old woman is brought in. That mystery of ours is trampled underfoot, and the devil’s fraud dances. [y]

“Why then does God not rebuke the help people get from such sources?” He has rebuked it many times, and has not persuaded you. Now he leaves you to your error, for Scripture says, “God gave them up to a debased mind” (Romans 1, verse 28). What is more, not even a Greek who had any sense could put up with these things. It is reported that a certain popular leader at Athens once hung these things around himself. When a philosopher who was his teacher saw them, he rebuked him, protested, ridiculed him, and made fun of him. And we are in so wretched a state that we even believe in these things!

“Why,” someone says, “are there no longer people who raise the dead and work cures?” Why, then, I ask in turn, are there no longer people who despise this present life? Do we serve God for wages? When human nature was weaker, when the faith had to be planted, there were many such people. But now he does not want us to hang on these signs, but to be ready for death. Why then do you cling to the present life? Why do you not look to the life to come? For the sake of this life you can bear even to commit idolatry, but for the sake of the other you cannot so much as hold back your sadness? This is why there are no such people now: that future life has come to seem of no value to us, since we do nothing for its sake, while for this one there is nothing we refuse to go through.

And why that other farce too: ashes, and soot, and salt? And the old woman brought in again? A farce indeed, and a disgrace! And then they say, “An eye has caught the child.”

Where will these satanic doings end? How will the Greeks not laugh? How will they not jeer when we tell them, “Great is the power of the cross”? How will they be won over, when they see us running to the very things they themselves laugh to scorn? Was it for this that God gave physicians and medicines? [ac]

“What then? Suppose they do not cure him, and the child departs?” Departs where? Tell me, you miserable, wretched woman! Will he depart to the demons? Will he depart to some tyrant? Will he not depart to heaven? Will he not depart to his own Lord? Why then do you grieve? Why do you weep? Why do you mourn? Why do you love your infant more than your Lord? Is it not through him that you have this child as well? Why are you ungrateful? Do you love the gift more than the Giver?

“But I am weak,” she replies, “and I cannot bear the fear of God.” Well, if among the evils of the body the greater covers over the lesser, much more is this so in the soul: fear destroys fear, and sorrow destroys sorrow.

Was the child beautiful? Be that as it may, he is not more beautiful than Isaac, and Isaac too was an only son. Was he born in your old age? So was Isaac. But is he lovely? Well, however lovely he may be, he is not lovelier than Moses (Acts 7, verse 20), who drew even the eyes of a foreigner to a tender love for him, and that at an age when beauty is not yet disclosed. And yet his parents cast this beloved child into the river. You at least see your child laid out, and hand him over for burial, and go to his tomb. But they did not so much as know whether he would become food for fish, or for dogs, or for the other beasts that prey in the sea. And they did this knowing nothing yet of the kingdom, or of the resurrection.

But suppose it is not an only child. Suppose that after you have lost many, this one too has departed. Still, your calamity is not as sudden as Job’s, nor as grim to look upon. It did not come when a roof fell in; it did not come while they were feasting; it did not follow on the news of other calamities. [ae]

Was the child dearly loved by you? But not more than Joseph, the one “devoured by wild beasts.” Yet his father bore that calamity, and the one that followed it, and the next after that. He wept, but he did nothing impious. He mourned, but he did not complain. He stopped at these words: “Joseph is not, Simeon is not, and will you take Benjamin away? All these things are against me” (Genesis 42, verse 36). Do you see how the pressure of famine prevailed on him to put his children second? And does the fear of God not prevail on you as much as famine did?

Weep; I do not forbid you. But say nothing and do nothing blasphemous. Whatever your child may be, he is not like Abel; and yet Adam said nothing of this kind, though that calamity was a heavy one, that his own brother should have killed him. But I am reminded of others too who killed their brothers, as when Absalom killed Amnon, the firstborn (Second Samuel 13). And King David loved his child, and sat in sackcloth and ashes. But he brought in neither soothsayers nor enchanters, although there were such people then, as Saul shows. Instead he made his plea to God.

So you too do likewise. As that righteous man did, so you do as well. When your child is dead, say the same words: “I will go to him, but he will not come back to me” (Second Samuel 12, verse 23). This is true wisdom; this is affection. However much you love your child, you will not love him as much as David did then. For even though that child was born of adultery, still that blessed man’s love for the mother was at its height, and you know that a child shares in the love of its parents. So great was David’s love for the child that he even wished it to live, though it would be his own accuser. But still he gave thanks to God. And what do you think Rebekah suffered when his brother threatened Jacob? Yet she did not grieve her husband, but told him to send her son away (Genesis 27, verse 46, and 28, verse 1).

When you have suffered any calamity, think of what is worse than it, and you will have comfort enough. Consider with yourself: what if he had died in battle? What if in a fire? Whatever our sufferings may be, let us think of things still more fearful, and we will have comfort enough. And let us always look around at those who have endured more terrible things, and at whether we ourselves have ever suffered heavier calamities. This is how Paul too encourages us, when he says, “You have not yet resisted to the point of shedding blood in your struggle against sin” (Hebrews 12, verse 4), and again, “No trial has overtaken you except what a human being can bear” (First Corinthians 10, verse 13).

So whatever our sufferings may be, let us look around at what is worse, for we will find it, and in this way we will be thankful. And above all, let us give thanks for everything, continually. For in this way these things will be eased, and we will live to the glory of God and obtain the good things promised us. May we all attain them, through the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom, to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, power, and honor, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.