Homily 14 — First Timothy 5, verses 8 to 10

“But if anyone does not provide for his own, and especially for those of his own household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.” [a]

Many people think that their own virtue is enough for their salvation, and that if they order their own lives properly, nothing more is needed to save them. But in this they are badly mistaken. The proof is the man who buried his one talent: he brought it back not smaller but whole, just as it had been handed to him. The blessed Paul shows it too, when he says here, “If anyone does not provide for his own.” The provision he speaks of is universal. It concerns the soul as well as the body, since both are to be provided for.

“If anyone does not provide for his own, and especially for those of his own household” — that is, those closely related to him — “he is worse than an unbeliever.” Isaiah, the chief of the prophets, says the same: “You shall not overlook your relatives of your own seed” (Isaiah 58, verse 7, in the Greek Old Testament). For if a man abandons those who are joined to him by ties of blood and marriage, how will he be loving toward others? When he does good to others while he slights his own relatives and does not provide for them, will it not look like empty glory? And what will people say if he instructs others but neglects his own, when he has better means and a higher obligation to help them? Will they not say, “These Christians are loving indeed — they neglect their own relatives!”

“He is worse than an unbeliever.” Why? Because the unbeliever, even if he does no good to strangers, does not neglect his close relatives. What Paul means is this: the man who does not provide for his own family breaks the law of God and the law of nature. But if the one who does not provide for them has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever, where will the one who has wronged his relatives be ranked? With whom will he be placed?

But how has he denied the faith? In the way it is said, “They profess that they know God, but by their works they deny him” (Titus 1, verse 16). What has God, in whom they believe, commanded? “Do not hide yourself from your own flesh” (Isaiah 58, verse 7). How, then, can a man who denies God in this way be said to believe? Let those who neglect their relatives to spare their money think about this. God’s purpose in joining us by ties of kinship was to give us many opportunities of doing good to one another. So when you neglect a duty that even unbelievers carry out, have you not denied the faith? For faith is not merely professing belief; it is doing works worthy of faith. And it is possible, in each particular thing, both to believe and not to believe.

Paul had been speaking of luxury and self-indulgence, and so he says that such a woman is punished not only because she lives in luxury, but because her luxury compels her to neglect her household. He is right to say so. For the woman who lives for her belly perishes this way too, as one who “has denied the faith.” But how is she worse than an unbeliever? Because neglecting our relatives is not the same as neglecting a stranger. How could it be? The fault is greater here: to abandon someone we know rather than someone we do not know, a friend rather than one who is not a friend.

Verses 9 and 10: “Let no widow be put on the list who is under sixty years old, having been the wife of one man, well spoken of for good works.” [e]

He had said, “Let them learn first to show godliness at home and to repay their parents.” He had also said, “She who lives in pleasure is dead while she lives.” And he had said, “If she does not provide for her own, she is worse than an unbeliever.” Having named the qualities whose absence would make a woman unworthy to be counted among the widows, he now names what else she must have. What, then? Are we to accept her for her age? What merit is there in that? It is not her own doing that she is sixty years old. So he does not speak of her age alone. Even if she has reached those years, he says, she may still not be counted on the list without good works. Then why is he particular about the age? Later he gives a reason, one that starts not with him but with the widows themselves. Meanwhile, let us hear what follows.

“Well spoken of for good works, if she has brought up children.” It is certainly no small work to bring up children. But bringing them up is not merely taking care of them; they must be brought up well, as he said before: “If they continue in faith and love and holiness” (First Timothy 2, verse 15). Notice how constantly he puts kindness to our own relatives ahead of kindness to strangers. First he says, “If she has brought up children,” and then, “if she has lodged strangers, if she has washed the feet of the saints, if she has relieved the afflicted, if she has diligently followed every good work.” [f]

But what if she is poor? Not even then is she shut out from bringing up children, lodging strangers, and relieving the afflicted. She is not poorer than the widow who gave the two small coins. Poor as she may be, she has a house; she does not sleep in the open air. “If,” he says, “she has washed the feet of the saints.” That is not a costly work. “If she has diligently followed every good work.” What is he instructing here? He is urging them to give the service of their own bodies, for women are especially suited to such care: making the beds of the sick and settling them to rest.

Amazing! How strict he is with widows — almost as strict as with the bishop himself. For he says, “If she has diligently followed every good work.” It is as though he meant that, where she could not do it herself, she shared in it and helped with it. When he cuts off luxury, he wants her to be careful with what she has and a good manager of her household, and at the same time to persevere continually in prayer. Anna was such a woman. That is how strict he is with widows — stricter even than with virgins, though of them too he requires great strictness and outstanding virtue. For when he speaks of “what is fitting” and “that you may attend to the Lord without distraction” (First Corinthians 7, verse 35), he gives, in a way, a summary of all virtue. [g]

You see, then, that simply not marrying a second time is not enough to make a widow; many other things are needed. But why does he discourage second marriages? Is the thing condemned? Not at all. That is heresy. He only wants her to be occupied from then on with spiritual things, and to turn all her care to virtue. For marriage is not an impure state, but it is a very busy one. He is speaking of their having leisure, not of their being purer by staying unmarried. For marriage certainly brings a great deal of worldly business. If you stay unmarried so as to have leisure for serving God, and then do not use that leisure for it — for every kind of service to strangers and to the saints — it does you no good. If you do not do this, you are refraining from marriage not for any good purpose, but as though you condemned it. In the same way the virgin who is not truly crucified to the world seems, by turning down marriage, to condemn it as cursed and impure.

Notice that the hospitality spoken of here is not merely a friendly welcome. It is a welcome given eagerly and gladly, with readiness, going about it as if one were receiving Christ himself. The widows should do these services themselves, not hand them over to their maidservants. For Christ said, “If I, your Teacher and Lord, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet” (John 13, verse 14). And however rich a woman may be, and of the highest rank, proud of her birth and her noble family, the distance between her and others is not what it was between God and the disciples. [i]

If you receive the stranger as Christ, do not be ashamed; count it your glory instead. But if you do not receive him as Christ, do not receive him at all. “He who receives you,” he said, “receives me” (Matthew 10, verse 40). If you do not receive him that way, you have no reward. Abraham received men passing by who were travelers, as he thought, and he did not leave it to his servants to prepare the meal for them. He took the greater part of the work on himself, and he told his wife to knead the flour, though he had three hundred and eighteen servants born in his house, and there must have been many maidservants among them. But he wanted both himself and his wife to have the reward not only of the expense but of the service. That is how we ought always to practice hospitality: by our own personal effort, so that we may be made holy and our hands may be blessed.

And if you give to the poor, do not think it beneath you to give it yourself. For it is not the poor who receive it, but Christ. And who is so wretched as to think it beneath him to stretch out his own hand to Christ?

This is hospitality; this is truly doing it for God’s sake. But if you give your orders with pride, even if you invite him to take the first place, it is not hospitality; it is not done for God’s sake. The stranger needs a great deal of attention and a great deal of encouragement, and even with all this it is hard for him not to feel embarrassed. His position is so delicate that even while he receives the favor, he is ashamed. We ought to remove that shame by the most attentive service, and show by our words and actions that we do not think we are doing a favor but receiving one, that the kindness we do is less than the kindness done to us. That is how much goodwill multiplies a kindness. For just as the one who thinks of himself as the loser, and thinks he is doing a favor, destroys all its worth, so the one who looks on himself as receiving a kindness increases the reward. “For God loves a cheerful giver” (Second Corinthians 9, verse 7). [j]

So it is rather you who are indebted to the poor man for accepting your kindness. If there were no poor, the greater part of your sins would not be taken away. They are the healers of your wounds; their hands are medicine to you. The physician who stretches out his hand to apply a remedy does not practice the art of healing more than the poor man who stretches out his hand to receive your alms, and so becomes a cure for your ills. You give your money, and with it your sins pass away. Such were the priests of old, of whom it was said, “They eat up the sin of my people” (Hosea 4, verse 8). So you receive more than you give; you are helped more than you help. You are lending to God, not to men. You are increasing your wealth rather than reducing it. But if you do not lessen it by giving, then it really is reduced!

“If she has lodged strangers, if she has washed the feet of the saints.” But who are these? The saints in distress, not just any saints. For there may be saints who are waited on by everyone. Do not visit these, who enjoy plenty, but those who are in distress, who are unknown, or known to few. “Whoever has done it to the least of these,” he says, “has done it to me” (Matthew 25, verse 40). [k]

Do not give your alms to those who preside in the church for them to distribute. Give it yourself, so that you may have the reward not only of giving but of the kind service as well. Give with your own hands. Cast the seed into the furrow yourself. Here you do not have to handle the plow, yoke the ox, wait for the season, break up the ground, or fight the frost. No such trouble is needed here, where you sow for heaven, where there is no frost or winter or anything like it. You sow in souls, where no one takes away what is sown; it is held fast with every care and diligence. Cast the seed yourself. Why rob yourself of your reward? There is a great reward even in distributing what belongs to others. There is a reward not only for giving, but for distributing well what has been given. Why will you not have this reward? That there is a reward for this, hear how we read that the apostles appointed Stephen to the service of the widows (Acts 6, verses 5 to 7).

Be the distributor of your own gifts. Your own goodwill and the fear of God appoint you to that service. In this way empty glory is shut out. This refreshes the soul, this makes the hands holy, this pulls down pride. This teaches you philosophy, this sets your zeal on fire, this brings blessings to you. As you leave, your head receives all the blessings of the widows. [m]

Be more earnest in your prayers. Search carefully for holy men — men who truly are holy — who live apart in the desert and cannot beg, but are wholly given to God. Make a long journey to visit them, and give with your own hand. For you may gain a great deal yourself if you give in person. Do you see their tents, their dwellings? Do you see the desert? Do you see the solitude? Often, when you have gone to give money, you give your whole soul. You are held there; you have become his fellow captive, and you too have become a stranger to the world.

It does a great deal of good even to see the poor. “It is better,” he says, “to go to the house of mourning than to the house of feasting” (Ecclesiastes 7, verse 2). The house of feasting sets the soul on fire. If you can imitate its luxury, you are spurred on to self-indulgence; if you cannot, you are grieved. In the house of mourning there is nothing of this kind. If you cannot afford luxury, you are not pained; and if you can, you are held back.

Monasteries are truly houses of mourning. There is sackcloth and ashes there; there is solitude; there is no laughter and no press of worldly business. There is fasting, and sleeping on the ground. There is no unclean aroma of rich food, no blood shed, no uproar, no disturbance, no crowding. It is a calm harbor. The monasteries are like lights shining from a high place to sailors far out at sea. They stand at the harbor, drawing everyone into their own calm, keeping those who look to them from shipwreck, and not letting those who look that way walk in darkness.

Go to them and make friends with them. Embrace their holy feet, which are more honorable to touch than other people’s heads. If some people clasp the feet of statues because they bear only a likeness of the king, will you not clasp the feet of one who has Christ within him, and be saved? The feet of the saints are holy, though they are poor men; but not even the head of the ungodly is honorable. Such power is there in the feet of the saints that when they shake the dust off their feet, they inflict punishment. When a saint is among us, let us not be ashamed of anything that belongs to him. And all are saints who join a holy life to a right faith; even if they do not work miracles or cast out demons, they are still saints.

So go to their tents. To go to the monastery of a holy man is to pass, as it were, from earth to heaven. You do not see there what you see in a private house. That company is free of all impurity. There is silence and deep quiet. The words “mine” and “yours” are not used among them. And if you stay there a whole day, or even two, you will enjoy it all the more. [o]

There, as soon as it is day, or rather before day, the rooster crows. And you do not see there what you may see in a house: the servants snoring, the doors shut, everyone asleep like the dead, while the mule driver outside is jingling his bells. There is nothing of all this. All of them shake off sleep at once and rise reverently when the one who presides over them calls them. They form themselves into a holy choir, stand, lift up their hands all together, and sing the sacred hymns. For they are not like us, who need many hours to shake the sleep out of our heavy heads. As soon as we are woken, we sit a while stretching our limbs, go to relieve ourselves, then wash our face and our hands; after that we put on our shoes and our clothes, and a great deal of time is spent.

It is not like that there. No one calls for his servant, for each one waits on himself. Nor does he need many clothes, or have to shake off sleep. As soon as he opens his eyes, he is like someone who has long been awake and is fully collected. For when the heart is not smothered within by too much food, it recovers quickly and is at once wide awake. Their hands are always pure, for their sleep is composed and orderly. None of them is found snoring, or breathing heavily, or tossing about in his sleep, or lying with his body uncovered. They lie asleep as decently as those who are awake, and all this comes from the orderly state of their souls. These are truly saints, and angels among men. [p]

And do not be surprised when you hear these things. Their great fear of God does not let them sink into the depths of sleep and drown their minds; sleep settles lightly on them and simply gives them rest. And their dreams are like their sleep: not full of wild imaginings and monstrous visions.

But, as I said, at cockcrow the one who presides over them comes and, gently touching the sleeper with his foot, wakes them all. For none of them sleeps naked. Then, as soon as they are up, they stand and sing the prophetic hymns in close harmony and to well-composed tunes. No harp, no pipe, no other musical instrument gives out such sweet melody as you hear from the singing of these saints in their deep and quiet solitude. [q]

And the songs themselves are fitting, and full of the love of God. “In the night,” they sing, “lift up your hands to God.” “With my soul I have longed for you in the night; yes, with my spirit within me I will seek you early” (Isaiah 26, verse 9). And the Psalms of David, which make fountains of tears flow. For he sings, “I am weary with my groaning; all night long I make my bed swim; I drench my couch with my tears” (Psalm 6, verse 6); and again, “I have eaten ashes like bread” (Psalm 102, verse 9); and, “What is man, that you are mindful of him?” (Psalm 8, verse 4); and, “Man is like a breath; his days are like a shadow that passes away” (Psalm 144, verse 4).

And, “Do not be afraid when someone is made rich, when the glory of his house is increased” (Psalm 49, verse 16); and, “Who makes people to be of one mind in a house” (Psalm 68, verse 6); and, “Seven times a day I praise you, because of your righteous judgments” (Psalm 119, verse 164); and, “At midnight I will rise to give thanks to you, because of your righteous judgments” (Psalm 119, verse 62); and, “God will redeem my soul from the power of the grave” (Psalm 49, verse 15); and, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me” (Psalm 23, verse 4); and, “I will not be afraid of the terror by night, nor of the arrow that flies by day, nor of the plague that stalks in darkness, nor of the destruction that lays waste at noonday” (Psalm 91, verses 5 and 6); and, “We are counted as sheep for the slaughter” (Psalm 44, verse 22). In all these he expresses their burning love for God. [r]

And again, they sing with the angels — for the angels too are singing at that hour — “Praise the Lord from the heavens” (Psalm 148, verse 1). And we, meanwhile, are snoring, or scratching our heads, or lying on our backs plotting endless deceits. Think what it meant for them to spend the whole night this way.

And when day is coming on, they rest again; for when we begin our work, they have a season of rest. But each of us, when it is day, calls on his neighbor and goes over his expenses, and then goes off to the marketplace, where he appears trembling before the magistrate and dreads being called to account. Another goes to the theater; another goes about his own business. But these holy men, having finished their morning prayers and hymns, turn to the reading of the Scriptures. Some of them have also learned to copy out books. Each has his own cell assigned to him, where he lives in unbroken quiet. No one fools around; no one says a word. [s]

Then at the third, sixth and ninth hours, and in the evening, they offer their prayers. They have divided the day into four parts, and at the close of each they honor God with psalms and hymns. While others are dining, laughing and playing, and bursting with gluttony, they are occupied with their hymns. For they have no time for the table, or for these pleasures of the senses. After their meal they go the same way again, having first given themselves a little sleep. People in the world sleep during the day, but these men keep watch during the night. Truly they are children of light! And while the others, having slept away most of the day, go out weighed down with heaviness, these are still alert, going without food until the evening and occupied with hymns.

When evening overtakes other men, they hurry to the baths and to their various amusements. But these men, now freed from their labors, go to their table. They do not call up a crowd of servants, or throw the house into bustle and confusion, or set before themselves highly seasoned dishes and rich, steaming delicacies. Some have only bread and salt; others add oil to it; and the weaker ones also have greens and beans. Then, after sitting a short time — or rather, after closing everything with hymns — they each go to rest on a bed made for rest alone and not for luxury.

There is no dread of magistrates there, no lordly arrogance, no terror of slaves, no disturbance from women or children, no crowd of chests, no needless hoarding of clothes, no gold or silver, no guards and sentries, no storehouse. None of all this. Everything there is full of prayer, of hymns, and of a spiritual aroma. There is nothing of the flesh there. They fear no attacks of robbers, since they have nothing to be robbed of — no wealth, only a soul and a body, and if they are robbed of these, it is not a loss but a gain. For it is said, “For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain” (Philippians 1, verse 21). They have freed themselves from all bonds. Truly, “The voice of gladness is in the tents of the righteous” (Psalm 118, verse 15).

No wailing or lamentation is heard there. Their roof is free of that gloom and those cries. Deaths do happen there, for their bodies are not immortal, but they do not know death as death. The departed are carried to the grave with hymns. They call this a procession, not a burial. And when word comes that someone has died, there is great cheerfulness, great pleasure. Or rather, none of them can bear to say that someone is dead; they say that he has been made perfect. Then there is thanksgiving, and great glory, and joy, each one praying that such may be his own end, that his own contest may be ended in the same way, and that he may rest from his labor and his struggles and see Christ. [t]

And if anyone is sick, instead of tears and lamentations they turn to prayers. Often it is not the care of physicians but faith alone that relieves the sick. And if a physician is needed, even then there is the greatest firmness and philosophy. There is no wife tearing her hair, no children mourning that they are orphans before their time, no slaves begging the dying man to assure them that they will be left in good hands. Free of all these things, the soul at its last breath looks to one thing only: that it may depart in favor with God. And when disease comes, its causes are a matter of glory rather than of reproach, as they are elsewhere. For it comes not from gluttony or a head heavy with excess, but from intense watching and fasting, or similar causes. That is why it is easily removed: to remove it, it is enough to ease the severity of these disciplines.

But you will say: “Tell me, then, could anyone wash the feet of the saints in the church? Are such people to be found among us?” Yes, without a doubt they are. And when the life of these saints is described, let us not look down on those who are in the churches. There are often many such among us, though they are hidden. Nor let us look down on them because they go from house to house, or go into the marketplace, or appear in public. God has even commanded such services, saying, “Judge the fatherless, plead for the widow” (Isaiah 1, verse 17). [u]

There are many ways of being virtuous, just as there are many kinds of jewels, though all are called jewels. One is bright and round on every side; another has a different beauty. How so? Coral, by a kind of art, has its line drawn out and its angles shaped off; another has a color lovelier than white; the prase surpasses every green; another has the rich color of blood; another a blue deeper than the sea; another is more brilliant than purple. So in their variety they rival all the colors of the flowers or of the sun. Yet all are called jewels. So it is with the saints. Some train themselves; some train the churches.

So Paul has put it well: “If she has washed the feet of the saints, if she has relieved the afflicted.” He speaks this way to stir all of us to imitation. Let us hurry, then, to do such things, so that one day we may be able to boast that we have washed the feet of the saints. For if we ought to wash their feet, how much more ought we to give them our money with our own hands, and at the same time take care to do it unseen.

“Do not let your left hand know,” he says, “what your right hand is doing” (Matthew 6, verse 3). [w]

Why bring in so many witnesses? Do not let your servant know it, nor, if possible, your wife. The deceiver puts many obstacles in the way. Often a wife who never interfered before will get in the way of such works, whether from empty glory or some other motive. Even Abraham, who had an admirable wife, hid it from her when he was about to offer up his son. He did not know what was going to happen; he was fully convinced that he must slaughter his son. What would any ordinary man have said? Would it not have been, “Who is this who does such things?” Would he not have accused him of cruelty and savagery? His wife was not even allowed to see her son, to hear his last words, to watch his dying struggle. He led him away like a captive.

That righteous man thought of none of these things. He was drunk, as it were, with zeal, so that he looked only to how he might carry out what had been commanded. No servant, no wife was present; indeed, he himself did not know how it would end. But intent on offering up a pure victim, he would not defile it with tears or with any resistance. Notice, too, how gently Isaac asks, “Look, the fire and the wood — but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?” And what was his father’s answer? “My son, God will provide for himself a lamb for a burnt offering” (Genesis 22, verses 7 and 8). In this he spoke a prophecy, that God would provide for himself a burnt offering in his Son; and it also came true at that time. But why did he hide it from the one who was to be sacrificed? Because he was afraid the boy would be stunned with terror and prove unworthy. With such care and good sense did he act throughout this whole affair!

Well, then, has the Scripture said, “Do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.” If we have someone as dear to us as one of our own limbs, let us not be eager to show him our acts of mercy, unless it is necessary. For many evils can come of it: a person is stirred to empty glory, and obstacles are often raised. For this reason let us hide it, if possible, even from ourselves, so that we may attain the blessings promised, 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.