Homily 12 — Colossians 4, verses 12 to 18

“Epaphras, who is one of you, a servant of Christ Jesus, greets you, always striving for you in his prayers, that you may stand perfect and fully assured in all the will of God. For I bear him witness that he has much zeal for you, and for those in Laodicea, and for those in Hierapolis.” [a]

At the beginning of this letter, too, he commended this man for his love, for even to praise someone is a sign of love. So at the beginning he said, “who also declared to us your love in the Spirit” (Colossians 1, verse 8). To pray for someone is also a sign of love, and it produces love in return. He commends him, besides, to open a door for his teaching; for when the teacher is held in reverence, it is to the disciples’ advantage. That is also why he says “one of you”: so that they might take pride in the man, as the people who produce such men.

And he says, “always striving for you in his prayers.” He did not say simply “praying,” but “striving” — that is, trembling and afraid. “For I bear him witness,” he says, “that he has much zeal for you.” A trustworthy witness! “That he has,” he says, “much zeal for you”: that is, he loves you exceedingly and burns with passionate affection for you.

“And for those in Laodicea, and for those in Hierapolis.” He commends him to those churches as well. But how were they to know about this? They would certainly have heard of it; but they would also learn it when the letter was read. For he said, “See that it is read in the church of the Laodiceans as well.” [b]

“That you may stand perfect,” he says. In one breath he both accuses them and, without giving offense, advises and counsels them. For it is possible to be perfect and yet not to stand — as when someone knows everything and is still wavering. It is also possible not to be perfect and yet to stand — as when someone knows only a part, yet stands firmly. But Epaphras prays for both: “that you may stand perfect,” he says. See how he has reminded them again of what he said about the angels, and about life.

“And fully assured,” he says, “in all the will of God.” It is not enough simply to do his will. The one who is “filled” does not let any other will be inside him; if he did, he would not be wholly filled. “For I bear him witness,” he says, “that he has much zeal.” He says both “zeal” and “much,” and both words heighten the meaning — as he says himself when writing to the Corinthians, “For I am jealous over you with a godly jealousy” (Second Corinthians 11, verse 2).

Verse 14: “Luke, the beloved physician, greets you.” This is the evangelist. It is not to lower Luke that he places him after the other man, but to raise the other, Epaphroditus. There were probably others called by this name. “And Demas,” he says. After saying, “Luke, the physician, greets you,” he added, “the beloved.” And this is no small praise; to be loved by Paul is a very great thing indeed. [f]

Verse 15: “Greet the brothers and sisters who are in Laodicea, and Nymphas, and the church that is in their house.” See how he cements them and knits them together with one another — not by greetings only, but also by having them exchange his letters. Then again he pays Nymphas a compliment by greeting him by name. And he does not do this without a reason, but to lead the others, too, to imitate his zeal. For it is no small thing not to be counted in with the rest. Notice, further, how he shows the man to be great: his house was a church.

Verse 16: “And when this letter has been read among you, see that it is read in the church of the Laodiceans as well.”

I suppose there were some things written in it that those people also needed to hear. And they would gain all the more by recognizing their own faults in the charges brought against others. [h]

“And that you also read the letter from Laodicea.” Some say that this is not a letter of Paul’s to them, but one of theirs to Paul, for he did not say “the one to the Laodiceans,” but the one written “from Laodicea.”

Verse 17: “And say to Archippus, ‘Look to the ministry that you have received in the Lord, that you fulfill it.’” Why does he not write to him directly? Perhaps he did not need that, but only a bare reminder, to make him more diligent.

Verse 18: “This greeting is in my own hand — Paul’s.” This is a proof of their sincerity and affection: that they looked at his handwriting, and looked at it with emotion. “Remember my chains.” How wonderful! How great the comfort! This is enough to cheer them on to everything and to make them bear themselves more nobly in their trials. And he made them not only braver, but also more closely bound up with him. “Grace be with you. Amen.”

It is great praise, greater than all the rest, when he says of Epaphras, “who is one of you, a servant of Christ.” He calls him a minister on their behalf, just as he calls himself a minister of the church, as when he says, “of which I, Paul, was made a minister” (Colossians 1, verse 23). He raises this man to the same rank. Above he calls him a “fellow servant” (Colossians 1, verse 7), and here “a servant.” “Who is one of you,” he says — as though speaking to a mother and saying, “who is from your own womb.” [j]

But this praise might have stirred up envy. So he does not commend him on these grounds only, but also on grounds that concerned the Colossians themselves; and in this way he does away with envy, both in the earlier place and here. “Always,” he says, “striving for you” — not only now, while he is with us, to make a show; nor only while he was with you, to make a show before you. By saying “striving,” he has shown how earnest he was. Then, so that he would not seem to be flattering them, he added, “that he has much zeal for you, and for those in Laodicea, and for those in Hierapolis.” And the words “that you may stand perfect” are not the words of flattery, but of a teacher who deserves respect.

He says both “fully assured” and “perfect.” The one he granted them; the other, he said, was lacking. And he did not say, “that you may not be shaken,” but, “that you may stand.” Their being greeted by many, however, is refreshing to them: it shows that not only their own friends from among themselves, but others too, remember them. [k]

“And say to Archippus, ‘Look to the ministry that you have received in the Lord.’” His chief aim is to place them entirely under Archippus. For they could no longer complain against him for rebuking them, once they themselves had taken the whole charge upon themselves. It would not be fitting to speak to the disciples about their teacher; but to stop their mouths, he writes to them this way: “Say to Archippus,” he says, “‘Look to it.’” This word is used everywhere to alarm, as when he says, “Look out for the dogs” (Philippians 3, verse 2); “Look out that no one carries you off as plunder” (Colossians 2, verse 8); “Look out that this freedom of yours does not become a stumbling block to the weak” (First Corinthians 8, verse 9). He always speaks this way when he wants to put fear into them. “Look to the ministry,” he says, “that you have received in the Lord, that you fulfill it.”

He does not even leave him the power to choose, just as Paul says of himself, “For if I do this of my own will, I have a reward; but if not of my own will, I have been entrusted with a stewardship” (First Corinthians 9, verse 17). “That you fulfill it” — using constant diligence. “Which you have received in the Lord, that you fulfill it.” Again, “in” means “through the Lord.” He gave it to you, he says, not we. He places them under Archippus as well, by showing that they had been committed into his hands by God. [l]

“Remember my chains. Grace be with you. Amen.” He has set them free from their fear. For though their teacher is in chains, “grace” sets him free.

And this too is a gift of grace: that he was granted to be put in chains. For listen to Luke saying that the apostles went out “from the presence of the council, rejoicing that they were counted worthy to suffer dishonor for the Name” (Acts 5, verse 41). To suffer shame and to be put in chains really is to be “counted worthy.” For if a man who loves someone thinks it a gain to suffer anything for his sake, much more is it so to suffer for the sake of Christ.

So let us not complain about our distresses for Christ’s sake. Let us remember Paul’s chains too, and let them spur us on. For instance: are you urging someone to give to the poor for Christ’s sake?

Remind them of Paul’s chains, and lament your own misery and theirs: he gave up even his body to chains for Christ’s sake, and you will not give up even a portion of your food. Are you puffed up over your good deeds? Remember Paul’s chains, and that you have suffered nothing of the kind, and you will not be puffed up any longer. Do you covet something that belongs to your neighbor? Remember Paul’s chains, and you will see how unreasonable it is for you to live in delights while he was in dangers. Again, is your heart set on self-indulgence? Picture Paul’s prison. You are his disciple, his fellow soldier. How is it reasonable for your fellow soldier to be in chains, and you in luxury? [m]

Are you in trouble? Do you think you have been abandoned? Hear of Paul’s chains, and you will see that being in trouble is no proof of being abandoned. Do you want to wear silk robes? Remember Paul’s chains, and these things will seem to you more worthless than the filth-stained rags of the woman who sits apart. Do you want to deck yourself out in gold jewelry? Picture Paul’s chains, and these things will seem to you no better than a withered reed. Do you want to dress your hair and be beautiful to look at? Think of Paul’s squalor in that prison, and you will burn for that beauty, and count this the height of ugliness, and groan bitterly with longing for those chains.

Do you want to smear yourself with creams and paints and the like? Think of his tears: for three years, night and day, he did not stop weeping (Acts 20, verse 31). Adorn your cheek with this; these tears make it bright. I am not saying that you should weep for others — I wish it could be so, but that is too high for you — but I advise you to do this for your own sins.

Have you ordered your slave to be put in chains? Were you angry and exasperated? Remember Paul’s chains, and you will check your anger at once. Remember that we belong to those who are bound, not those who bind; to the crushed in heart, not to those who crush. Have you lost control of yourself and roared with laughter? Think of his laments, and you will groan; tears like these will make you far brighter. Do you see people carousing and dancing? Remember his tears. [n]

What fountain ever poured out such streams as his eyes poured out tears? “Remember my tears” (Acts 20, verse 31), he says there, as here he says “chains.” And he had good reason to speak to them this way when he sent for them from Ephesus to Miletus, for he was then speaking to teachers. So from those he asks that they share his grief as well; from these, only that they face dangers.

What fountain will you compare with these tears? The one in Paradise, which waters the whole earth? You will have named nothing like it. For this fountain of tears watered souls, not earth. If someone were to show us Paul bathed in tears and groaning, would that not be a far better sight than countless dancing choruses crowned with garlands?

I am not speaking about you now. But suppose someone pulled away from the theater and the stage some loose young man, burning and drunk with fleshly passion, and showed him a young virgin in the very flower of her youth, surpassing her companions in every way, and in her face most of all. Her eye is tender and soft; it rests gently and moves gently; it is moist, mild, calmly smiling, clothed in great modesty and great grace, fringed with dark lashes above and below, the pupil, so to speak, alive. Her forehead is radiant; below it, her cheek is tinted to exactly the right red, smooth as marble and even. And then suppose someone showed me Paul weeping. I would leave that girl and spring eagerly away to the sight of him, for spiritual beauty shone from his eyes.

That other beauty carries away the souls of young men; it scorches them and sets them on fire. But this, on the contrary, subdues them. This makes the eyes of the soul more beautiful; it reins in the belly; it fills us with the love of wisdom and with deep compassion; and it can soften even a soul of diamond. With these tears the church is watered; with these, souls are planted. Yes, even a real fire, one the senses can feel, these tears can put out; these tears put out “the fiery darts of the evil one.”

So let us remember these tears of his, and we will laugh all present things to scorn. Christ called these tears blessed when he said, “Blessed are those who mourn, and blessed are those who weep, for they will laugh” (Matthew 5, verse 4; Luke 6, verse 21). Isaiah and Jeremiah wept such tears as well. The first said, “Leave me alone; I will weep bitterly” (Isaiah 22, verse 4, in the Greek Old Testament); and the second, “Who will give water to my head, and fountains of tears to my eyes?” (Jeremiah 9, verse 1) — as though the natural fountain were not enough. [p]

Nothing is sweeter than these tears; they are sweeter than any laughter. Those who mourn know how great a comfort it holds. Let us not think this something to pray against, but something to pray for earnestly — not that others may sin, but that when they sin, we may be heartbroken over them.

Let us remember these tears, these chains. Surely tears fell on those chains too; but the death of those who were perishing, of the very men who had bound him in them, did not let him taste the pleasure of the chains. For he grieved on their behalf, being a disciple of the one who wept over the priests of the Jews — not because they were about to crucify him, but because they themselves were perishing. And he did not do this himself only; he urges others to do the same, saying, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me” (Luke 23, verse 28). These eyes saw Paradise; they saw the third heaven. But I do not count them so blessed for that sight as for those tears, through which they saw Christ. That sight was blessed indeed — he even boasts of it himself, saying, “Have I not seen Jesus Christ our Lord?” (First Corinthians 9, verse 1) — but to weep like this is more blessed.

Many have shared in that sight, and those who have not, Christ calls all the more blessed, saying, “Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet have believed” (John 20, verse 29). But not many have attained to this. For if staying here for Christ’s sake, for the salvation of others, was more necessary than departing to be with him (Philippians 1, verses 23 and 24), then surely groaning for the sake of others is more necessary even than seeing him. For if being in hell for his sake is more to be desired than being with him, and being separated from him for his sake more to be desired than being with him — for this is what he said: “For I could wish that I myself were accursed, cut off from Christ” (Romans 9, verse 3) — much more is weeping for his sake. “I did not stop,” he says, “admonishing everyone with tears” (Acts 20, verse 31). [r]

Why? Not because he feared the dangers — no. It was like someone sitting at a sick man’s bedside who does not know how things will end, and weeps out of affection, afraid that he will lose his life. So it was with Paul: when he saw someone diseased and could not win him over by rebuke, from then on he wept. Christ did the same, so that perhaps they might respect his tears. Someone sinned; he rebuked him; the man he rebuked spat on him and sprang away; he wept, so that perhaps he might win him even so.

Let us remember these tears. This is how we should raise our daughters, and our sons: weeping when we see them doing wrong. All you women who want to be loved, remember Paul’s tears, and groan. All of you who are counted fortunate, all who are in bridal chambers, all who are living in pleasure: remember these tears. All who are in mourning: exchange tears for tears. He did not mourn for the dead, but for those who were perishing while still alive. [s]

Shall I tell you of other tears? Timothy also wept, for he was this man’s disciple. That is why Paul, writing to him, said, “Remembering your tears, that I may be filled with joy” (Second Timothy 1, verse 4). Many people weep even from pleasure. So weeping is also a matter of pleasure, and of pleasure at its most intense. So the tears are not painful. Indeed, the tears that flow from such sorrow are far better even than those that come from worldly pleasure. Listen to the prophet saying, “The Lord has heard the voice of my weeping; he has heard the voice of my supplication” (Psalm 6, verse 8).

For where is a tear not useful? In prayers? In exhortations? We give tears a bad name by using them for what they were not given to us for. When we plead with a brother who is sinning, we ought to weep, grieving and groaning. When we exhort someone and he pays us no attention, but goes on perishing, we ought to weep. These are the tears of heavenly wisdom. But when someone is in poverty, or in bodily sickness, or has died — not so; for these are not things worth tears.

Just as we give laughter a bad name, too, when we use it out of season, so we do with tears when we turn to them at the wrong time. For the excellence of each thing shows itself when it is put to its own proper work; when it is put to work that does not belong to it, it no longer does. For instance, wine is given for cheerfulness, not drunkenness; bread for nourishment; sexual intercourse for the procreation of children. And just as these things have gotten a bad name, so have tears. Let a law be laid down that they are to be used only in prayers and exhortations, and see how desirable a thing they will become. Nothing wipes out sins like tears.

Tears make even this bodily face beautiful, for they win the onlooker to pity and make the face worthy of respect in our eyes. Nothing is sweeter than eyes full of tears. For the eye is the noblest member we have, and the most beautiful, and the soul’s own. That is why we are so moved by tearful eyes, as though we saw the soul itself lamenting.

I have not said these things without a reason, but so that you will give up your attendance at weddings, at dances, at satanic performances. [t]

For see what the devil has invented. Since nature itself has kept women away from the stage and the disgraceful things acted out there, he has brought the theater’s furnishings into the women’s quarters — I mean loose men and prostitutes. This plague has been brought in by the custom of weddings — or rather, not of weddings, far from it, but of our own foolishness. What are you doing, my friend? Do you not know what you are about? You marry a wife for chastity and the procreation of children; what, then, are these prostitutes doing here? Someone answers: “So that there may be greater merriment.” And yet is this not rather madness? You insult your bride; you insult the women who are invited. For if they are delighted with such goings-on, that itself is an insult to them. If watching prostitutes behave indecently brings any honor, why do you not drag your bride there too, so that she can watch as well? It is utterly indecent and disgraceful to bring loose men and dancers into one’s house, and all that parade of Satan.

“Remember,” he says, “my chains.” Marriage is a bond, a bond ordained by God; a prostitute is a cutting apart and a dissolving. You are permitted to adorn a wedding with other things, such as full tables and fine clothes. I do not cut these things off, so as not to seem too boorish — and yet Rebekah was content with her veil alone (Genesis 24, verse 65). Still, I do not cut them off. You are permitted to adorn and set off a wedding with fine clothes, and with the presence of respected men and respected women. Why do you bring in those mockeries? Why those monsters? Tell us: what do you hear from them? What? You blush to tell it? You blush, and yet you force them to do it? If it is honorable, why do you not do it yourself as well? And if it is disgraceful, why do you compel someone else to do it?

Everything should be full of chastity, of dignity, of good order. But I see the reverse: people frisking about like camels and mules. For the virgin, her own room is the only fitting place. Someone says: “But she is poor.”

Because she is poor, she ought to be modest as well; let her have her good character in place of a fortune. Has she no dowry to bring with her? Then why do you make her contemptible in other ways too, through her life and manners? I approve of the custom by which virgins attend to honor one of their own, and married women attend to honor the one who is being made one of their company.

This has been rightly arranged. For there are two companies, one of virgins, the other of married women: the one is giving her up, the other receiving her. The bride stands between them, neither virgin nor wife, for she is coming out of the one company and entering the fellowship of the other. But those prostitutes — what are they doing there? They ought to hide their faces when a marriage is celebrated; they ought to be buried in the ground, for prostitution is the ruin of marriage. Yet we bring them into our weddings.

When you are engaged in some work, you think it ill-omened to speak even a syllable of anything that goes against it. For instance, when you are sowing, or drawing the wine off from your vats, you would not utter a syllable about vinegar, even if someone asked you. But here, where the object is chastity, do you bring in the vinegar? For that is what a prostitute is. When you are preparing perfumed ointment, you do not let anything foul-smelling come near it. Marriage is a perfumed ointment. Why, then, do you bring the stench of the dunghill into the making of your ointment?

What are you saying? Shall the virgin dance, and feel no shame before her companion? For she ought to have more dignity than the other; at least she has come out of her nurse’s arms, not out of the wrestling ground. The virgin ought not to appear in public at a wedding at all.

Do you not see how in the houses of kings the honored ones are inside, near the king, and those without honor are outside? You too, stay inside, near the bride. Remain in the house in chastity; do not put your virginity on display. Each company is standing by: the one to show what sort of woman she is whom they are giving up, the other to guard her. Why do you disgrace the state of virginity? For if you behave like this, the bridegroom will suspect that she is the same. If you want men to fall in love with you, that is the way of market women, greengrocers and working people. Is this not a disgrace? To behave indecently is a disgrace, even for a king’s daughter. Does her poverty stand in the way? Or her station in life? Even if a virgin is a slave, let her keep to modesty. “For in Christ Jesus there is neither slave nor free” (Galatians 3, verse 28). [u]

What? Is marriage a theater? It is a mystery, and a type of a mighty thing. Even if you do not revere marriage, revere what it is a type of. “This mystery is great,” he says, “but I speak concerning Christ and the church” (Ephesians 5, verse 32). It is a type of the church and of Christ, and you bring prostitutes into it? Someone says, “Then if neither the virgins dance nor the married women, who is going to dance?” No one. What need is there of dancing? In the mysteries of the Greeks there is dancing; in ours there is silence and decency, modesty and reserve. A great mystery is being celebrated: out with the prostitutes! Out with the unholy!

How is it a mystery? They come together, and the two make one. Why is it that at his entrance there was no dancing, no cymbals, but great silence, great stillness; and yet when they come together, making not a lifeless image, nor the image of anything on earth, but of God himself, and after his likeness, you bring in such an uproar, and disturb those who are there, and put the soul to shame and throw it into confusion? They come together, about to be made one body. See again a mystery of love! If the two do not become one, then as long as they remain two they do not make many; but when they have come into oneness, then they make many. What do we learn from this? That the power of union is great. At the beginning God in his wisdom divided the one into two; and wanting to show that even after the division it still remains one, he did not let the one be enough by itself to bring children into being. For the one who is not yet united is not one, but half of one. This is clear from the fact that he fathers no children, as was the case before as well. Do you see the mystery of marriage? He made one out of one; and again, having made these two into one, he makes one in such a way that even now a human being is born from one. For husband and wife are not two human beings, but one. This can be confirmed from many sources: for instance, from James, from Mary the mother of Christ, and from the words, “He made them male and female” (Genesis 1, verse 27). If he is the head and she the body, how are they two? That is why the one holds the rank of a disciple and the other of a teacher, the one of a ruler and the other of a subject. And from the very way her body was formed one can see that they are one, for she was made from his side, and they are, so to speak, two halves.

That is why he also calls her a helper, to show that they are one (Genesis 2, verse 18); that is why he honors their living together above father and mother, to show that they are one (Genesis 2, verse 24). In the same way a father rejoices both when his son marries and when his daughter marries, as though the body were hurrying to join a limb of its own. And though so great a burden and so much expense of money is involved, he still cannot bear to see her unmarried and not care. For it is as though her own flesh had been cut away from her. Each one separately is incomplete for bringing children into the world; each one is incomplete for the business of this present life. That is why the prophet too says, “the remnant of your spirit” (Malachi 2, verse 15, in the Greek Old Testament). [x]

And how do they become one flesh? It is as if you were to take the purest part of gold and mix it with other gold. So here too the woman, as it were, receives the richest part, fused by pleasure; she nourishes it and cherishes it, and, adding her own share as well, gives it back as a human being. And the child is a kind of bridge, so that the three become one flesh, the child joining each of them to the other from either side. Just as two cities that a river divides all along their length become one if a bridge joins them from both sides, so it is here; and even more so, since here the bridge itself is made from the substance of each. It is like the body and the head, which are one body. They are divided by the neck, yet not divided more than joined, for the neck lies between them and brings each together with the other. It is the same as if a chorus of dancers that had been split apart were to become one by taking one part of itself from this side and the other from the right; or as the dancers, when they close ranks and stretch out their hands, become one, for the outstretched hands do not allow them to be two. That is why he spoke with precision and said, not “they will be one flesh,” but joined together “into one flesh” (Genesis 2, verse 24, in the Greek Old Testament): that is, into the flesh of the child. What then? When there is no child, will they not be two? No; their coming together has this effect: it pours out and mingles the bodies of both. Just as someone who pours perfume into oil makes the whole one, so it is here too.

I know that many are ashamed at what is being said, and the cause of it is what I spoke of: your own lewdness and unchastity. Because marriages are celebrated this way, so corrupted, the thing itself has gained a bad name. For “marriage is honorable, and the bed undefiled” (Hebrews 13, verse 4). Why are you ashamed of what is honorable? Why do you blush at what is undefiled? That belongs to heretics; that belongs to those who bring prostitutes in there. That is why I want to have it thoroughly cleansed, so as to bring it back to its proper nobility and to stop the mouths of the heretics. The gift of God is being insulted, the root from which we are born; for around that root lies a great deal of dung and filth. So let us clear it away with our words. Bear with me a little while, then; for whoever handles filth must put up with the stench. I want to show you that you ought not to be ashamed of these things, but of the things you do. Yet you pass over all shame at those and are ashamed of these. Surely, then, you are condemning God, who ordained it so. [z]

Shall I tell you how marriage is also a mystery of the church? Christ came to the church, and she was made from him, and he united with her in a spiritual union. “For,” he says, “I have betrothed you to one husband, a pure virgin” (Second Corinthians 11, verse 2). And that we are from him, he says: we are “of his members, and of his flesh.” Keeping all this in mind, then, let us not bring shame on so great a mystery. Marriage is a type of the presence of Christ, and you get drunk at it? Tell me: if you saw an image of the king, would you dishonor it? Not at all. [aa]

Now the goings-on at weddings seem to be a matter of no importance, but they are the cause of great harm. Everything is full of lawlessness. “Filthiness, and foolish talk, and joking,” he says, “let it not come out of your mouth” (Ephesians 5, verse 4, and 4, verse 29). All these things are filthiness, foolish talk and joking; and not simply that, but worse, for the thing has become an art, and those who practice it win great praise. Sins have become an art! We do not go after them in a haphazard way, but with earnest effort, with skill; and from then on the devil takes command of his own army. For where there is drunkenness, there is unchastity; where there is filthy talk, there the devil is close at hand, bringing in his own contributions. Tell me, with entertainment like this do you celebrate the mystery of Christ? And do you invite the devil?

I suppose you find me offensive. For this too is a mark of extreme perversity: even the one who rebukes you becomes the object of your ridicule, as though he were too severe. Do you not hear Paul saying, “Whatever you do, whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God” (First Corinthians 10, verse 31)? But you do everything to bring disgrace and dishonor. Do you not hear the prophet saying, “Serve the Lord with fear, and rejoice in him with trembling” (Psalm 2, verse 11)? But you are completely unrestrained. Is it not possible both to enjoy pleasure and to do so safely? Do you want to hear beautiful songs? Best of all, you should not want to; nevertheless, I will make allowance for you, if that is what you want. Do not listen to those satanic songs, but to the spiritual ones. Do you want to see choirs of dancers? Look at the choir of the angels. Someone asks, “And how is it possible to see them?”

If you drive all these things away, Christ himself will come to such a wedding, and when Christ is present, the choir of the angels is present too. If you are willing, he will work miracles even now, as he did then: even now he will make the water into wine (John 2). And what is far more wonderful, he will take this unstable pleasure that melts away, this cold desire, and change it into the spiritual. This is making wine out of water. Where there are pipers, Christ is certainly not there; and even if he has come in, he first throws them out, and then he works his wonders. What can be more unpleasant than this satanic parade, where everything is inarticulate, everything without meaning, and where, if anything is articulate, again it is all shameful, all foul?

Nothing is more delightful than virtue, nothing sweeter than good order, nothing more lovely than dignity. Let anyone celebrate a wedding such as I describe, and he will find the pleasure. But pay attention to what sort of weddings these are. First, look for a husband for your virgin daughter who will truly be a husband and a protector, as though you meant to set a head on a body, as though you were about to put into his hands not a slave but a daughter. Do not look for money, or a brilliant family, or a great hometown; all these things are superfluous. Look for godliness of soul, gentleness, real understanding, the fear of God, if you want your darling to live happily. For if you look for a richer husband, not only will you not help her, you will actually harm her, by making her a slave instead of free. The pleasure she gets from her gold trinkets will not be as great as the misery that comes from her slavery. I beg you, do not look for these things. Look above all for one of equal standing; and if that cannot be, then rather one poorer than one better off, if, that is, you want not to sell your daughter to a master, but to give her to a husband. [ab]

When you have thoroughly looked into the man’s virtue and are about to give her to him, ask Christ to be present; for he will not be ashamed to come. It is the mystery of his presence. Or rather, ask him from the very start to give her such a suitor. Do not be worse than Abraham’s servant, who, when he was sent on so important a journey, saw where he ought to turn for help; and that is why he obtained everything. When you are anxiously taking pains to find her a husband, pray. Say to God, “Whomever you will, provide him yourself.” Put the matter into his hands; and he, honored by you in this way, will repay you with honor.

Two things, then, must be done: to put the matter into his hands, and to look for the kind of well-ordered man he himself approves. When you hold a wedding, then, do not go around from house to house borrowing mirrors and dresses. The matter is not one of display, and you are not taking your daughter out to a public show. Deck out your house with what is in it, and invite your neighbors, friends and relatives. Invite those you know to be of good character, and ask them to be content with what there is. Let no one from the dancing floor be there, for such expense is superfluous and unbecoming. Before all the rest, invite Christ. Do you know how you will invite him? “Whoever,” he says, “has done it to one of these least has done it to me” (Matthew 25, verse 40). And do not think it a nuisance to invite the poor for Christ’s sake; inviting prostitutes is the nuisance. For inviting the poor is a source of wealth, and the other a source of ruin. [ac]

Adorn the bride, not with these ornaments made of gold, but with gentleness and modesty and the customary clothes. In place of all gold ornaments and braided hair, dress her in blushes and modesty, and in not wanting such things. Let there be no uproar, no confusion. Let the bridegroom be called; let him receive the virgin. As for the dinners and suppers, let them be full not of drunkenness, but of plenty and enjoyment. See how many good things will come of it whenever we see weddings like these! But from the weddings celebrated now (if one ought even to call them weddings and not public shows), how many evils! The banquet hall is no sooner cleared than care and fear come at once, in case anything borrowed has been lost, and unbearable gloom takes the place of the pleasure. This distress falls to the mother-in-law; or rather, not even the bride herself is free of it. At least, all that follows falls to the bride herself. For to see everything broken up is a reason for sadness: to see the house deserted.

There is Christ, here is Satan; there cheerfulness, here anxious care; there pleasure, here pain; there expense, here nothing of the kind; there indecency, here modesty; there envy, here no envy; there drunkenness, here sobriety, here health, here self-control. Keeping all these things in mind, let us stop the evil here, so that we may please God and be counted worthy to obtain the good things promised to those who love him, 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. [ad]