Homily 7 — Hebrews 4, verses 11 to 16

“Let us labor, therefore, to enter that rest, so that no one may fall by the same example of unbelief. For the word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and it discerns the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And there is no creature that is not plainly seen in his sight, but all things are naked and laid open to the eyes of him with whom we have to do.” [a]

Faith is indeed a great thing. It brings salvation, and without it no one can ever be saved. Yet it is not enough by itself to accomplish this; a right way of life is needed too. That is why Paul, too, urges people who had already been counted worthy of the mysteries, saying, “Let us labor to enter that rest.” “Let us labor,” he says. Faith is not enough; our life must be added to it, and our earnestness must be great. For truly much earnestness is needed to go up into heaven. If those who endured such great hardship in the wilderness were not counted worthy of the promised land, and could not reach that land, because they grumbled and because they committed sexual immorality, how will we be counted worthy of heaven if we live carelessly and lazily? We need, then, much earnestness.

And notice that the punishment does not stop at this alone, at not entering in. He did not say, “Let us labor to enter the rest, so that we may not miss such great blessings.” He added what rouses people most of all. And what is that? “So that no one may fall by the same example of unbelief.” What does this mean? It means that we should keep our mind, our hope, our expectation there, so that we do not fail. That otherwise we will fail, the example shows: “so that no one may fall by the same example,” he says.

Next, so that when you hear the words “by the same example” you will not think the punishment is the same, listen to what he adds: “For the word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, and it pierces even to the dividing of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and it discerns the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” In these words he shows that he, the Word of God, brought about those former events as well, and that he lives and has not been extinguished. [c]

So when you hear of the Word, do not think lightly of it. For he is “sharper than a sword,” he says. Notice how he stoops down to meet his hearers, and from this consider why the prophets too needed to speak of saber and bow and sword: “If you do not turn,” it says, “he will sharpen his sword; he has bent his bow and made it ready” (Psalm 7, verse 12). For if even now, after so long a time, and after they have been brought to maturity, he cannot strike them down with the name of “the Word” alone, but needs these expressions to show by the comparison how far the good news surpasses the law, how much more was this needed in the old days!

“Piercing,” he says, “even to the dividing of soul and spirit.” What is this? He is hinting at something more fearful: either that it divides the spirit from the soul, or that it pierces even through them, bodiless as they are, and not as a sword pierces bodies only. Here he shows that the soul too is punished, and that the Word searches out the innermost things, piercing right through the whole person.

“And it discerns the thoughts and intentions of the heart, and there is no creature that is not plainly seen in his sight.” With these words above all he struck fear into them. Do not feel secure, he says, if you still stand in the faith but without full assurance. He judges the heart within; for he passes through it there, both punishing and searching out.

And why do I speak of human beings? he says. Even if you speak of angels, of archangels, of the cherubim, of the seraphim, of any “creature” whatever, everything is laid open to that eye, everything is clear and plain; there is nothing that can escape it. “All things are naked and laid open to the eyes of him with whom we have to do.”

But what does “laid open” mean? It is a picture taken from the skins drawn off the animals killed in sacrifice. When someone has killed them and drawn the skin back from the flesh, he lays open all the inner parts and makes them plain to our eyes. In the same way, everything lies open before God. And notice, I beg you, how constantly he needs pictures taken from the body. That came from the weakness of his hearers. That they were weak he made plain when he said they were “dull” and “needed milk, not solid food” (Hebrews 5, verses 11 and 12). “All things are naked,” he says, “and laid open to the eyes of him with whom we have to do.”

But what does “by the same example of unbelief” mean? It is as if someone asked, Why did the people of old not see the land? They had received a pledge of God’s power; they ought to have believed. But they gave way too much to fear, imagined nothing great about God, and lost heart, and so they perished. And there is something more to be said: after they had covered the greater part of the journey, when they were at the very doors, at the harbor itself, they sank into the sea. This is what I fear for you too, he says. This is the meaning of “by the same example of unbelief.” [f]

That these people too, the ones he is writing to, had suffered much, he testifies later on, saying, “Remember the former days, in which, after you had been enlightened, you endured a great struggle with sufferings” (Hebrews 10, verse 32). So let no one lose heart, or fall from weariness near the end. For there are, there really are, people who take up the fight at the beginning with the full vigor of zeal, but a little later, because they are not willing to add the rest, lose everything. Your forefathers, he says, are enough to teach you not to fall into the same sins, and not to suffer the same things they suffered. This is “by the same example of unbelief.” Let us not lose heart, he means, as he also says near the end of the letter: “Lift up the hands that hang down, and the weak knees” (Hebrews 12, verse 12). “So that no one may fall,” he says, “by the same example.” For this is falling indeed.

Then, so that when you hear “that no one may fall by the same example” you will not imagine the same death they suffered, see what he says: “For the word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword.” For the Word falls on the souls of such people more severely than any sword, causing grievous wounds and dealing deadly blows. And he has no need to give proof of these things or to establish them by argument, since he has so fearful a history to point to. What kind of war destroyed them, he would say? What sort of sword? Did they not simply fall of themselves? So let us not grow careless because we have not suffered the same things. While “it is called Today,” it is in our power to recover ourselves.

So that we will not grow careless on hearing of the things that belong to the soul, he adds what concerns the body as well. It is like a king whose officers are guilty of some great fault: first he strips them of their command, takes away their belt, their rank and their herald, and then he punishes them. So too the sword of the Spirit works here.

Next he speaks of the Son: “with whom we have to do,” he says. What does “with whom we have to do” mean? That it is to him we must give account for what we have done, he would say? Just so. How then must we act, so that we do not fall or lose heart? [g]

These things, he would say, are enough to teach us. But we also have “a great high priest who has passed into the heavens, Jesus the Son of God.” And because he added this, he went on, “For we do not have a high priest who cannot feel for our weaknesses.” That is why he said earlier, “Because he himself suffered when he was tested, he is able to help those who are being tested.” See how he does the same thing here too. What he says amounts to this: he traveled the road we are traveling now, he says, or rather an even rougher one; for he had experience of all human sufferings.

He had said above, “There is no creature that is not plainly seen in his sight,” pointing to his being God. Then, since he had touched on the flesh, he again speaks in a way that stoops to his hearers, saying, “Having, then, a great high priest who has passed into the heavens” (verse 14). And he shows that Christ’s care is greater, that he protects them as his own and would not have them fall away. For Moses, he says, did not enter the rest, but Christ did enter. And it is wonderful how he never said this outright, so that they would not seem to have found a pretext. He implied it, but so that he would not appear to be bringing an accusation against the man, he did not say it openly. For if, when nothing of the kind had been said, they still brought these charges, saying, “This man has spoken against Moses and against the law” (see Acts 21, verses 21 and 28), how much harsher things would they have said if he had said, “It is not Palestine but heaven”!

But he does not lay everything on the priest; he also requires what must come from us, I mean our confession. For “having,” he says, “a great high priest who has passed into the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession.” What kind of confession does he mean? That there is a resurrection, that there is a recompense, that there are good things beyond number, that Christ is God, that the faith is right. These things let us confess; these things let us hold fast. That they are true is plain from this: the high priest is within. We have not been disappointed of our hopes; let us confess it. Although the realities are not yet here, let us confess it. If they were here already, they would be only a lie. So this too is true, that our good things are put off to later. For our high priest, too, is great. [i]

Verse 15: “For we do not have a high priest who cannot feel for our weaknesses.”

He is not ignorant of our condition, he means, as many high priests are, who do not know those in distress, nor even that there is ever such a thing as distress. For among human beings it is impossible for anyone to know the affliction of the afflicted unless he has had experience of it and gone through the actual feelings. Our high priest endured all things. That is why he first endured and then ascended: so that he might be able to feel with us.

“But he was in every respect tested after our likeness, yet without sin.” Notice how above he used the word “in like manner,” and here “after the likeness” (Hebrews 2, verse 14). That is, he was persecuted, spat on, accused, mocked, falsely informed against, driven out, and at last crucified.

“After our likeness, without sin.” These words suggest something else as well: that it is possible even for someone in afflictions to go through them without sin. So also when he says “in the likeness of flesh” (Romans 8, verse 3), he does not mean that Christ took merely “the likeness of flesh,” but flesh itself. Why then did he say “in the likeness”? Because he was speaking of “sinful flesh.” It was “like” our flesh, since in nature it was the same as ours, but in sin it was no longer the same.

Verse 16: “Let us come, then, boldly to the throne of his grace, so that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” [l]

What “throne of grace” is he speaking of? That royal throne about which it is said, “The Lord said to my Lord, Sit at my right hand” (Psalm 110, verse 1).

What does “let us come boldly” mean? It means that “we have a sinless high priest” who has contended with the world. For he says, “Take courage; I have overcome the world” (John 16, verse 33). For this is what it is to suffer all things and yet to be pure of sins. Although we are under sin, he means, he is sinless.

How is it that we should “come boldly”? Because now it is a throne of grace, not a throne of judgment. So come boldly, “that we may obtain mercy,” the very mercy we are seeking. For the matter is one of generosity, a royal gift.

“And may find grace for help in due season.” He put it well: “for help in due season.” If you come now, he means, you will receive both grace and mercy, for you are coming “in due season.” But if you come then, you will receive them no longer. For then the approach is out of season, since then it is no longer “a throne of grace.” Until that time he sits granting pardon; but when the end has come, then he rises up to judgment. For it is said, “Arise, O God, judge the earth” (Psalm 82, verse 8). (Or again, “let us come boldly” means having no “evil conscience,” that is, not being in doubt; for such a person cannot “come with boldness.”) That is why it is said, “At an acceptable time I heard you, and on a day of salvation I helped you” (Second Corinthians 6, verse 2). For even now it is a matter of grace that those who sin after baptism should find repentance.

But so that when you hear of a high priest you will not think that he stands, he at once leads you to the throne. A priest does not sit; he stands. Do you see that his being made high priest is not a matter of his nature, but of grace, of his stooping down, of his humbling himself?

That is why it is timely for us too to say now, “Let us draw near,” asking boldly. Let us only bring faith, and he gives everything. Now is the time of the gift; let no one despair of himself. The time for despair will be then, when the bridal chamber is shut, when the King has come in to see the guests, when those counted worthy of it have received the patriarch’s bosom as their portion. But it is not so yet. The spectators are still assembled, the contest is still on, the prize is still undecided.

So let us be earnest. Even Paul says, “So I do not run uncertainly” (First Corinthians 9, verse 26). We must run, and run hard. A runner sees none of the people he meets, whether he is passing through meadows or through dry country. A runner does not look at the spectators but at the prize: whether they are rich or poor, whether someone mocks him or praises him, insults him or throws stones at him or plunders his house, whether he sees children or wife or anything at all. He is busy with one thing alone: running, and winning the prize. A runner never stands still, since if he slackens even a little he has lost everything. A runner not only slackens nothing before the end; it is then above all that he strains his speed. [o]

I have said this for those who say: “In our younger days we disciplined ourselves; in our younger days we fasted. Now we have grown old.” Now most of all you ought to make your care more intense. Do not count off to me the good things you did in the past; be young and vigorous now. A man who runs this bodily race, once gray hair has overtaken him, probably cannot run as he did before, for that whole contest depends on the body. But you, why do you slacken your speed? In this race what is needed is a soul, a soul fully awake. And the soul grows stronger in old age; that is when it is in its full vigor, that is when it is in its prime.

It is like the body. As long as the body is weighed down by fevers and one sickness after another, it is worn out, however strong it is; but when it is freed from the attack, it recovers its proper strength. In the same way the soul in youth is feverish, and is chiefly in the grip of the love of glory, luxurious living, sensual cravings, and many other fancies. But old age, when it comes, drives all these passions away, some because a man has had his fill of them, some through philosophy. For old age slackens the body’s powers and does not let the soul use them even if it wanted to. It holds them down like enemies of every kind, sets the soul in a place free from turmoil, produces a great calm, and brings in a greater fear.

For if no one else knows it, people say, the old know that they are drawing near their end and certainly stand close to death. So when the desires of this life are withdrawing, and the expectation of the judgment seat is coming on and softening the soul’s stubbornness, does the soul not become more attentive, if a person is willing?

“What then, when we see old men more unmanageable than young ones?” You are telling me of an excess of wickedness. With madmen, too, we see them going over cliffs when no one pushes them. So when an old man has the diseases of the young, that is an excess of wickedness. Besides, such a man would have no excuse even for his youth, since he cannot say, “Do not remember the sins of my youth and the things I did in ignorance” (Psalm 25, verse 7). For the one who remains the same in old age shows that even in his youth he was what he was not from ignorance, nor from inexperience, nor from his time of life, but from laziness. The man who can say, “Do not remember the sins of my youth and the things I did in ignorance,” is the one who does what befits an old man, who changes in old age. But if even in old age he keeps to the same unseemly ways, how can he be worthy of the name of an old man, when he has no respect even for his time of life? For whoever says, “Do not remember the sins of my youth or the things I did in ignorance,” says it as one who is doing right in his old age. So do not, by what you do in old age, rob yourself of pardon for the sins of your youth as well. [p]

For how can what is done be anything but unreasonable and beyond pardon? An old man sits in taverns. An old man hurries off to the horse races. An old man goes up into the theaters, running with the crowd like a child. It is truly a shame and a mockery to be adorned outside with gray hair but to have a child’s mind within.

And yet if a young man insults him, he immediately points to his gray hair. Respect it first yourself. If you do not respect your own gray hair even when you are old, how can you demand that the young respect it? You do not honor your gray hair; you put it to shame. God has honored you with white hair; he has given you high dignity. Why do you betray the honor? How will the young man respect you, when you live more loosely than he does? A gray head is worthy of honor when it acts in a way worthy of the gray head; but when it plays the youth, it will be more ridiculous than the young. How then will you old men be able to give these warnings to the young man, when you are drunk with your own disorderly living?

I do not say these things to accuse the old, but the young. For in my judgment those who act this way are young even if they have reached their hundredth year; just as the young, even if they are little children, are better than the old if they are self-controlled. And this teaching is not my own; Scripture too recognizes the same distinction. “For honorable old age,” it says, “is not that which stands in length of time, and a spotless life is old age” (Wisdom 4, verses 8 and 9). [q]

We honor gray hair not because we value white above black, but because it is a proof of a virtuous life; when we see it, we infer from it a grayness within. But if men go on doing what does not fit the gray head, they become all the more ridiculous for it. We also honor the emperor, and the purple and the diadem, because they are the symbols of his office. But if we saw him in the purple, spat on, trampled underfoot by the guards, seized by the throat, thrown into prison, torn apart, would we then still revere the purple or the diadem, and not rather weep over that very splendor? So do not claim honor for your gray head when you yourself wrong it. Rather, it ought to receive amends from you, because you bring disgrace on a form so noble and so honorable. We do not say these things against all old people, nor is our speech against old age as such (I am not so mad as that), but against a youthful spirit that dishonors old age. And it is not about those who have grown old that we say these things with sorrow, but about those who disgrace the gray head.

For the old man is a king, if you like, and more royal than the one who wears the purple, if he masters his passions and keeps them in subjection, like bodyguards in their ranks. But if he is dragged about and thrown down from his throne, and becomes a slave of the love of money, of empty glory, of personal adornment, of luxury, of drunkenness, of anger and of sensual pleasures, and has his hair oiled and dressed, and shows an old age insulted by his way of life, what punishment would such a man not deserve?

But may you not be like that, young men! For you do not have an excuse for sinning either. Why not? Because it is possible to be old in youth. Just as there are youths in old age, so also the reverse. For as in the one case white hair saves no one, so in the other black hair is no obstacle. If it is more disgraceful for the old man than for the young to do the things I have spoken of, the young man is still not free from blame. A young man can have an excuse only when he is called to manage affairs while he is still inexperienced, when he needs time and practice; but no longer when he must show self-control and courage, nor when he must take care of his property.

In fact, the young man is sometimes blamed more than the old. The old man needs much looking after, because age makes him feeble; but the young man is able, if he will, to provide for himself. What excuse could he find, then, when he plunders more than the old man does, when he bears grudges, when he is contemptuous, when he does not step forward to protect others more than the old man does, when he says many things out of season, when he is insolent, when he hurls abuse, when he is drunk? And if he thinks that in the matter of chastity no charge can be brought against him, let him consider that here too he has many helps, if he will. For although desire troubles him more violently than it does the old, there are still many things he can do more than an old man can, and so charm that wild beast. What are these? Hard work, reading, keeping watch through the night, fasting.

“What do these things have to do with us, who are not monks?” Are you saying this to me? Say it to Paul, when he says, “Keeping alert with all perseverance and petition” (Ephesians 6, verse 18), and when he says, “Make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its cravings” (Romans 13, verse 14). Surely he did not write these things only to those who live alone, but to everyone in the cities. Should the man who lives in the world have any advantage over the one who lives alone, except only living with a wife? In this he has an allowance; in everything else, none. It is his duty to do everything just as the one who lives alone does. [r]

Moreover, the Beatitudes spoken by Christ were not addressed only to those who live alone. In that case the whole world would have perished, and we would be accusing God of cruelty. If these Beatitudes were spoken only to those who live alone, and someone living in the world cannot fulfill them, and yet God permitted marriage, then he has destroyed all people. For if it is not possible to do the duties of those who live alone while married, everything has perished and is destroyed, and the works of virtue are shut up in a narrow space.

And how can marriage be honorable, if it hinders us so much? What then? It is possible, yes, very possible, to pursue virtue even if we have wives, if we will. How? If, having “wives,” we are “as though we had none,” if we do not rejoice over our “possessions,” if we “use the world as not using it to the full” (First Corinthians 7, verses 29 and 31).

And if any people have been hindered by married life, let them know that it is not marriage that is the hindrance, but their own will, which made bad use of marriage. It is not wine that makes drunkenness, but the evil will, and using it beyond due measure. Use marriage with moderation, and you will be first in the kingdom and will enjoy all good things. May we all attain them by the grace and love of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom, to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, might, and honor, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.