Homily 4 — First Thessalonians 3, verses 5 to 13

“For this reason, when I could bear it no longer, I also sent to find out about your faith, for fear that somehow the tempter had tempted you and our labor would be in vain. But now that Timothy has just come to us from you, and has brought us the good news of your faith and love, and that you always remember us kindly, longing to see us, just as we also long to see you — for this reason, brothers and sisters, in all our distress and affliction we were comforted about you through your faith. For now we live, if you stand firm in the Lord.” [a]

A question lies before us today, one that is much disputed and that arises from many quarters. What is this question? “For this reason,” he says, “when I could bear it no longer, I sent Timothy to find out about your faith.” What are you saying? The man who knew so many things, who heard words that cannot be spoken, who went up even to the third heaven — does he not know, when he is only in Athens? And yet the distance is not great, nor has he been parted from them long. For he says, “being taken away from you for a short time.” He does not know the affairs of the Thessalonians, but is forced to send Timothy to learn about their faith, “for fear,” he says, “that the tempter had tempted you and our labor would be in vain.”

What, then, is one to say? That the saints did not know everything. One could learn this from many instances, both among the early saints and among those who came after them. Elisha did not know about the woman (Second Kings 4, verse 27). Elijah said to God, “I alone am left, and they are seeking my life,” and that is why he heard from God, “I have kept for myself seven thousand men” (First Kings 19, verses 10 and 18). Samuel, again, when he was sent to anoint David: “The Lord said to him, Do not look at his appearance or at the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For God does not see as man sees; man looks on the outward appearance, but God looks on the heart” (First Samuel 16, verse 7). [b]

And this comes about from God’s great care. How, and in what way? For the sake both of the saints themselves and of those who believe in them. Just as he allows persecutions, so he also allows them to be ignorant of many things, so that they may be kept humble. This is why Paul too said, “A thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to beat me, so that I would not be too highly exalted” (Second Corinthians 12, verse 7). And again, it is so that others too would not have too high an opinion of them. For if people thought they were gods because of their miracles, how much more if they had gone on knowing everything at all times! He says this too: “so that no one may think more of me than what he sees me to be, or hears from me” (Second Corinthians 12, verse 6). And listen again to Peter, when he healed the lame man, saying, “Why do you fix your eyes on us, as though by our own power or godliness we had made him walk?” (Acts 3, verse 12). And if, even while they were saying and doing these things, such wrong notions sprang up from these few small miracles, how much more would they have sprung up from great ones!

But these things were allowed for another reason as well: so that no one could say that they did those excellent deeds because they were something other than human beings, and so everyone grow careless. So he shows their weakness, so that through their foolishness he might cut off every excuse for shamelessness. That is why he does not know; that is why, too, he often does not come after he has planned to, so that they might see that there were many things he did not know. Great benefit came of this. For if there were some who even so were saying, “This man is that power of God which is called Great” (Acts 8, verse 10), and others that it was this person or that, what would they not have thought if things had not been this way? [c]

Here, however, there seems to be a reproach against them. Quite the opposite: it even shows their admirable conduct and proves how severe their trials were. How? Pay attention. If you said first that “we are appointed to this,” and “let no one be shaken,” why do you send Timothy again, afraid that something might happen that you would not want? He does this out of his great love. For those who love suspect even what is safe, because of the great warmth of their feeling. But it is also caused by the greatness of their trials. “I did say that we are appointed to this, but the severity of the trials alarmed me.” That is why he did not say, “I send him because I condemn you,” but “when I could bear it no longer,” which is rather the language of love.

What does “for fear that somehow the tempter had tempted you” mean? Do you see that being shaken in afflictions comes from the devil and from his leading us astray? For when he cannot shake us ourselves, he takes another way and shakes the weaker ones through us — and this shows great weakness, of a kind that admits no excuse. That is what he did in the case of Job, when he stirred up his wife: “Say some word against the Lord,” she says, “and die” (Job 2, verse 9, in the Greek Old Testament). See how he tempted her. [e]

But why did he not say “shaken,” but “tempted”? Because, he says, I only suspected this much: that you had been tempted. For he does not call the devil’s temptation a wavering; it is the one who lets his attack in who is shaken. How remarkable! How great is Paul’s affection! He paid no regard to afflictions or to plots against himself. For I think he was staying there at that time, as Luke says, that “he stayed in Greece three months, when the Jews made a plot against him” (Acts 20, verse 3).

So his concern was not for his own dangers, but for his disciples. Do you see how he surpassed every natural parent? For we, in our own afflictions and dangers, forget everything else. But he so feared and trembled for his children that he sent them Timothy, the only one he had for his comfort, his companion and fellow worker — and that in the very midst of dangers.

“And our labor,” he says, “would be in vain.” Why? Even if they had been turned aside, it would not have been through your fault or your carelessness. “Still, even if that were so, I think, because of my great love for the brothers and sisters, that my labor would have been made useless.” [f]

“For fear that somehow the tempter had tempted you.” So he tempts without knowing whether he will overthrow us. Does he attack us even though he does not know, and do we, who know that we will overcome him completely, not keep watch? That he attacks us even without knowing, he showed in the case of Job. For that evil demon said to God, “Have you not put a hedge around his things within and his things without? Take away his goods, and he will surely bless you to your face” (Job 1, verses 10 and 11, in the Greek Old Testament). He makes a trial: if he sees anything weak, he attacks; if he sees strength, he gives up.

“And our labor,” he says, “would be in vain.” Let us all hear how Paul labored. He does not say “work,” but “labor.” He does not say, “and you would be lost,” but “our labor.” So even if anything had happened, it would have happened with some reason; but that it did not happen was a great wonder. We did expect these things, he says, but the opposite happened. For we received from you not only no addition to our affliction, but even comfort.

“But now that Timothy has just come to us, and has brought us the good news of your faith and love.” “Brought us the good news,” he says. Do you see Paul’s overflowing joy? He does not say “brought us word,” but “brought us the good news.” So great a good did he think their steadfastness and their love. For if the one stood firm, the other was bound to be steadfast too. And he rejoiced in their love because it was a sign of their faith. [h]

“And that you always,” he says, “remember us kindly, longing to see us, just as we also long to see you.” That is, with praise. Not when we were with you, nor when we were working miracles, but even now, when we are far away, and are being flogged, and are suffering countless evils, “you remember us kindly.” Hear how disciples are admired who remember their teachers kindly, how they are called blessed. Let us imitate them. For it is ourselves we benefit, not those we love. “Longing to see us,” he says, “just as we also long to see you.” This too cheered them. For when someone loves, it is a great comfort and consolation to see that the one he loves knows that he is loved.

“For this reason, brothers and sisters, in all our distress and affliction we were comforted about you through your faith. For now we live, if you stand firm in the Lord.” What can compare with Paul, who considered his neighbors’ salvation his own, and felt toward all of them as toward his own limbs? Who now could burst out in such words? Or rather, who will ever be able even to have such a thought? He did not ask them to be grateful to him for the trials he suffered for their sake; he was grateful to them because they were not shaken on account of his trials. It is as if he had said that those trials did harm to you rather than to us; that you were the ones tempted rather than we — you who suffered nothing, rather than we who suffered. [i]

Because Timothy brought us this good news, he says, we feel nothing of our sorrows; we were comforted in all our affliction, not in this one only. For nothing else can touch a good teacher as long as his disciples’ affairs go as he would wish. Through you, he says, we were comforted; you strengthened us. And yet the reverse was the case. For the fact that the teachers did not give way when they suffered, but stood their ground bravely, was enough to strengthen the disciples. But he turns the whole matter around and hands the praise over to them. You have anointed us, he says; you have let us breathe again; you have not let us feel our trials.

And he did not say, “We breathe again,” or “We are comforted,” but what? “Now we live,” showing that he thinks nothing is trial or death except their stumbling, while their progress was life itself. How else could anyone have expressed either the sorrow over his disciples’ weakness or the joy? He did not say “we rejoice,” but “we live” — the life to come.

So without this we do not even think living to be life. That is how teachers ought to feel, and how disciples ought to feel; and then nothing will ever go wrong. Then, softening the expression further, see what he says. Verses 9 and 10: “For what thanks can we give back to God for you, for all the joy with which we rejoice because of you before our God, night and day praying exceedingly that we may see your face and may complete what is lacking in your faith?” [j]

Not only are you the cause of life to us, he says, but also of great joy — so great that we cannot give God worthy thanks for it. Your good conduct, he says, we consider to be God’s gift. You have shown us such kindness that we think it comes from God — or rather, it does come from God. For such a disposition of mind does not come from a human soul or from human effort.

“Night and day,” he says, “praying exceedingly.” This too is a sign of joy. A farmer who hears that the land he himself has worked is weighed down with ears of grain longs to see so pleasant a sight with his own eyes; in the same way Paul longs to see Macedonia. “Praying exceedingly.” Notice how far he goes: “that we may see your face and may complete what is lacking in your faith.”

Here there is a great question. If you now live because they stand firm, and Timothy brought you “the good news of their faith and love,” and you are so full of joy that you cannot give God worthy thanks, how can you say here that there are things lacking in their faith? Were those words, then, flattery? By no means; far from it. For earlier he testified that they had endured many struggles and had fared no worse than the churches in Judea. What, then, does it mean? They had not had the full benefit of his teaching, nor learned everything they needed to learn. He shows this toward the end of the letter. Perhaps there had been questions among them about the resurrection, and there were many who troubled them — not with trials or dangers, but by playing the part of teachers. [k]

This is what he says is lacking in their faith, and that is why he has put it this way. He has not said here, “that you may be strengthened.” Where he really did fear for their faith itself, he says, “I have sent Timothy to strengthen you”; but here he says, “to complete what is lacking,” which is a matter of teaching rather than of strengthening. As he also says elsewhere, “that you may be made complete for every good work” (from First Corinthians 1, verse 10, or Second Timothy 3, verse 17). Now the thing that is made complete is one in which there is some small lack; for that is what is brought to completion.

Verses 11 and 12: “Now may our God and Father himself, and our Lord Jesus Christ, direct our way to you; and may the Lord make you increase and overflow in love for one another and for everyone, just as we also do for you.”

This is a proof of overflowing love: he not only prays for them by himself, but even puts his prayer into his letters. This shows a fervent soul, one that truly cannot be held back. It is also a proof of the prayers he made there, and at the same time a defense, showing that it was not by choice, or out of laziness, that they had not gone to them. It is as if he had said, May God himself cut short the trials that distract us on every side, so that we may come straight to you.

“And may the Lord make you increase and overflow.” Do you see the unrestrainable madness of love that shows in his words? “Make you increase and overflow,” instead of “make you grow.” It is as if someone were to say that he wants to be loved by them with a kind of superabundance. “Just as we also do for you,” he says. Our part is already done; we pray that yours may be done. Do you see how he wants love to reach out, not only to one another but everywhere? For this truly is the nature of godly love: it embraces everyone. If you love this person but do not love that one, your love is merely human. But ours is not like that. “Just as we also do for you.”

Verse 13: “So that he may establish your hearts blameless in holiness before our God and Father, at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ with all his saints.” [m]

He shows that love brings benefit to those who love, not to those who are loved. I want this love to overflow, he says, so that there may be no blemish. He does not say “to establish you,” but “your hearts.” “For out of the heart come evil thoughts” (Matthew 15, verse 19). It is possible to be a bad man without doing anything — for example, to feel envy, unbelief, deceit, to rejoice at others’ misfortunes, to be unloving, to hold twisted doctrines. All these are things of the heart, and to be pure of them is holiness. It is true that chastity is in a special way called holiness, since sexual immorality and adultery are also called uncleanness. But in general every sin is uncleanness, and every virtue is purity. For “Blessed,” it says, “are the pure in heart” (Matthew 5, verse 8). By “the pure” he means those who are pure in every way.

For other things too know how to defile the soul, and no less. That wickedness defiles the soul, hear the prophet saying: “O Jerusalem, wash your heart clean of wickedness” (Jeremiah 4, verse 14). And again: “Wash yourselves, make yourselves clean, put away the wickedness from your souls” (Isaiah 1, verse 16, in the Greek Old Testament). He did not say “acts of sexual immorality.” So it is not only sexual immorality that defiles the soul, but other things as well.

“To establish your hearts,” he says, “blameless in holiness before our God and Father, at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ with all his saints.” So Christ will be Judge then; yet we will stand to be judged not before him only, but before the Father as well. Or does he mean this — to be blameless before God — as he always says, “in the sight of God”? For that is genuine virtue: not virtue in the sight of men. [n]

It is love, then, that makes them blameless. For it really does make people blameless. Once, when I was speaking about this to someone, and saying that love makes people blameless, and that love for our neighbor lets no wrongdoing in — and in my talk I was going over all the other sins and following each one through — one of my acquaintances broke in and said: “What about sexual immorality, then? Isn’t it possible both to love and to commit sexual immorality? Indeed, this sin actually springs from love. Greed, and adultery, and envy, and plotting against others, and everything of that kind can be stopped by love for one’s neighbor. But how can sexual immorality?” So he said; and I told him that love can stop even this. For if a man loves a woman who lives in sexual immorality, he will try to draw her away from other men, and will not add to her sin himself. So to commit sexual immorality with a woman is the act of someone who utterly hates the woman he sins with; someone who truly loved her would draw her away from that loathsome practice. And there is no sin — there is none — that the power of love cannot burn up like fire. It is easier for a worthless bundle of sticks to hold out against a great blazing pile than for the nature of sin to hold out against the power of love.

Let us, then, plant this love in our own souls, so that we may stand with all the saints. For all of them pleased God by their love for their neighbor. Why was Abel killed, and did not kill? Because of his strong love for his brother he could not even let such a thought in. Why did Cain take in the deadly plague of envy — for I will no longer call him Abel’s brother? Because the foundations of love had not been firmly laid in him. Why did Noah’s sons win a good name? Was it not because they loved their father deeply and could not bear to see him exposed? And why was the other one cursed? Was it not from not loving him? And why did Abraham win a good name? Was it not from love, in what he did for his nephew, and in his pleading for the people of Sodom? For strongly, strongly were the saints moved by love and by fellow feeling. [o]

For consider, please. Paul was bold in the face of fire, hard as diamond, firm and unshaken, solid on every side, riveted in the fear of God, unbending. “Who,” he said, “will separate us from the love of Christ? Will distress, or anguish, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword?” (Romans 8, verse 35). He was bold in the face of all these things, and of earth and sea; he laughed to scorn the diamond gates of death; nothing ever withstood him. Yet when he saw the tears of some he loved, he was so broken and crushed — this man of diamond — that he did not even hide his feelings, but said at once, “What are you doing, weeping and breaking my heart?” (Acts 21, verse 13). What are you saying, tell me? Did a tear have the power to crush that soul of diamond? He answers: “Yes. I hold out against everything except love. This overpowers me and masters me.” This is the mind of God. A depth of water did not crush him, and a few tears crushed him. “What are you doing, weeping and crushing my heart?” For great is the force of love.

Do you not see him weeping again? Why are you weeping? Tell me. “For three years,” he says, “I did not stop warning each one of you night and day with tears” (Acts 20, verse 31). Out of his great love he feared that some plague might be brought in among them. And again: “For out of much affliction and anguish of heart I wrote to you with many tears” (Second Corinthians 2, verse 4).

And what about Joseph, tell me — that firm man, who stood up against so great a tyranny, who proved so noble against so fierce a flame of love, who fought off and overcame his mistress’s frenzy so completely? For what was there not, then, to charm him? A beautiful woman, the pride of rank, costly clothes, the fragrance of perfumes — for all these know how to soften the soul — and words softer than all the rest! You know that a woman in love, and so violently in love, finds nothing too humbling to say, and takes on the posture of a suppliant. This woman was so broken, though she wore gold and was of royal rank, that she perhaps threw herself at the knees of the captive boy, and perhaps even begged him with tears, clasping his knees — and resorted to this not once or twice, but many times. Then too he might see her eyes shining most brilliantly. For it is likely that she set off her beauty not simply, but with extreme care, wanting to catch the lamb of Christ with many nets. Add to this, please, many magic charms as well. [q]

Yet this unbending, firm man, hard as rock, saw his brothers — who had bartered him away, who had thrown him into a pit, who had sold him, who had even wanted to murder him, who were the cause both of his prison and of his honor. He heard from them how they had worked on their father; for, it says, they said that one of them had been devoured by a wild beast (Genesis 37, verse 20, and 44, verse 28). And he was broken, softened, crushed. “And he wept,” it says; and not able to bear his feelings, he went in and composed himself (Genesis 43, verse 30) — that is, he wiped away his tears.

What is this? Are you weeping, Joseph? And yet the present situation calls not for tears, but for anger and wrath and indignation, and great revenge and retribution. You have your enemies in your hands, these men who tried to kill their own brother; you can satisfy your anger. And that would not even be injustice. You are not the one who starts the wrong; you are defending yourself against those who did it. And do not look at your present rank: that was not their doing, but God’s, who poured out his favor on you. Why are you weeping? But he would have said: “Far be it from me, who have won a good name in everything, to overturn it all by remembering wrongs. This is truly a time for tears. I am not more savage than the animals; they pour out a libation to nature, whatever harm they suffer. I weep that they ever treated me this way.” [s]

Let us imitate this man too. Let us mourn and weep for those who have wronged us. Let us not be angry with them. They truly deserve tears, for the punishment and condemnation they are bringing on themselves. I know how you are weeping now, how you are rejoicing, admiring Paul and amazed at Joseph and calling them blessed. But if anyone has an enemy, let him call him to mind now, let him bring him before his thoughts, so that while his heart is still warm with the memory of the saints, he may be able to melt the hardness of his anger and soften what is harsh and callous. I know that after you leave here, after I stop speaking, if any warmth and fervor remains, it will not be as great as it is now while you are listening to me. So if anyone — if anyone — has grown cold, let him melt the frost. For remembering wrongs is truly frost and ice.

But let us call on the Sun of Righteousness; let us beg him to send his rays upon us, and there will no longer be thick ice, but water to drink. If the fire of the Sun of Righteousness has touched our souls, it will leave nothing frozen, nothing hard, nothing burning, nothing barren. It will bring everything to ripeness, make everything sweet, fill everything with great delight. If we love one another, that ray too will come.

Allow me, I beg you, to say these things with earnestness. Let me hear that these words have had some effect: that someone has gone and thrown both arms around his enemy, has embraced him, has clung to him, has kissed him warmly, has wept. Even if the other is a wild beast, a stone, or whatever he may be, he will be made gentle by such loving kindness. For why is he your enemy? Has he insulted you? Yet he has done you no harm at all. Or are you letting your brother remain at odds with you for the sake of money? Do not do it, I beg you. Let us put an end to it all. This is our season; let us use it well. Let us cut through the cords of our sins. Before we go away to judgment, let us not judge one another ourselves. “Do not let the sun,” it says, “go down on your anger” (Ephesians 4, verse 26).

Let no one put it off. Putting it off only breeds more delay. If you have put it off today, you blush the more; if you add tomorrow, the shame is greater; and if a third day, it is worse still. So let us not bring shame on ourselves, but let us forgive, so that we may be forgiven. And if we are forgiven, we will obtain every blessing, through Jesus Christ our Lord, with whom, to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, power, and honor, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.