Homily 22 — Hebrews 11, verses 3 to 6

“Through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that the things which are seen were not made out of things which appear. By faith Abel offered to God a more excellent sacrifice than Cain, through which he received testimony that he was righteous, God bearing witness to his gifts; and through it, though he is dead, he still speaks.” [a]

Faith needs a generous and vigorous soul, one that rises above everything the senses perceive and passes beyond the weakness of human reasoning. For it is impossible to become a believer except by raising yourself above the common habits of the world.

The souls of the Hebrews had been thoroughly weakened. They had begun from faith, but afterwards, because of what happened to them — I mean their sufferings and afflictions — they had lost heart, grown low in spirit, and been shaken from where they stood. So he encouraged them first from these very things, saying, “Call to mind the former days” (Hebrews 10, verse 32); next from the Scripture, saying, “But the righteous will live by faith” (Hebrews 10, verse 38); after that from argument, saying, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the proof of things not seen” (Hebrews 11, verse 1). And now once again he encourages them from their forefathers, those great and admirable men. It is as though he said: if, where the good things were close at hand, all were saved by faith, much more are we.

For when a soul finds someone who shares its sufferings, it is refreshed and gets its breath back. We can see this both with faith and with affliction: “that there may be comfort for you,” it says, “through our mutual faith” (Romans 1, verse 12). For people are very distrustful. They cannot rely on themselves; they are anxious about whatever they think they possess, and they set great store by the opinion of the many.

What, then, does Paul do? He encourages them by the fathers, and before that by the ideas all people share. For tell me, he says — since faith is slandered as something without proof, more a matter of being deceived than anything else, he therefore shows that the greatest things are reached through faith and not through reasoning. And how does he show this, tell me? It is plain, he says, that God made the things that are out of things that are not; things that appear out of things that do not appear; things that exist out of things that do not exist. But how is it shown that he did this even “by a word”? Reason suggests nothing of the kind. On the contrary, it suggests that the things that appear are formed out of things that appear. [b]

That is why the philosophers say outright that ‘nothing comes out of things that are not’; they are “unspiritual” (Jude, verse 19), and they trust nothing to faith. And yet when these same men happen to say anything great and noble, they are caught entrusting it to faith. For instance, they say that “God is without beginning and unbegotten.” Reason does not suggest this; it suggests the opposite. And look, I beg you, at how great their folly is. They say that God is without beginning — and yet this is far more wonderful than making things out of what is not. For to say that he is without beginning, that he is unbegotten, begotten neither by himself nor by another, is more full of difficulties than to say that God made the things that are out of things that are not. For in this second case there is much that is uncertain: that someone made it, that what was made had a beginning, in short, that it was made. But in the first case, what? He exists of himself, unbegotten; he had neither beginning nor time. Tell me, do these things not need faith? Yet he did not put forward this, which was far greater, but the lesser.

How does it appear, he would say, that God made these things? Reason does not suggest it, and no one was present when it was done. How, then, is it shown? Plainly, it is the work of faith. “Through faith we understand that the worlds were made.” Why “through faith”? Because “the things that are seen were not made out of things that appear.” For this is what faith is.

Having stated the general principle in this way, he then tests it by individuals. For one outstanding man is worth as much as the world. He hinted at this himself later on. For when he had weighed the world against one or two hundred people, and then saw how small the number was, he goes on to say, “by whom the world was outweighed in worth” (Hebrews 11, verse 38). [e]

And notice whom he puts first: a man who was ill-treated, and by a brother. This was their own affliction. “For you also,” he says, “have suffered the same things from your own countrymen” (First Thessalonians 2, verse 14). And it was a brother he had not wronged at all, but who envied him because of God — to show that they too are looked on with an evil eye and envied. Abel honored God, and died because he honored him, and he has not yet attained to a resurrection. His readiness is plain to see, and his part has been done; but God’s part toward him has not yet been carried out. By a “more excellent sacrifice” he means here one that was more honorable, more splendid, more necessary.

And we cannot say, he says, that it was not accepted. God did accept it, and said to Cain, “Have you not sinned, if you offered rightly but did not divide rightly?” (Genesis 4, verse 7, in the Greek Old Testament). So Abel both offered rightly and divided rightly. Yet what recompense did he receive for it? He was killed by his brother’s hand. The sentence his father endured because of sin, this upright man was the first to receive. And he suffered all the more bitterly because it came from a brother, and because he was the first to suffer it.

And he did these things rightly without looking to anyone. For whom could he look to, when he honored God so? To his father and mother? But they had insulted God in return for his kindness. To his brother, then? But he too had dishonored God. So Abel sought out what was good by himself.

And the man who was worthy of so great an honor — what does he suffer? He is put to death. And how else was he “testified to, that he was righteous”? It is said that fire came down and consumed the sacrifices. For in place of “And the Lord looked with favor on Abel and on his sacrifices” (Genesis 4, verse 4), the Syriac said, “And he set them on fire.” So God, who bore witness to this righteous man by word and by deed, saw him killed for his sake, and did not avenge him, but left him to suffer.

But your case is not like that — how could it be? You have prophets and examples, encouragements without number, and signs and miracles that have been done. So his was faith indeed. For what miracles had he seen, to make him believe he would receive any reward of good things? Did he not choose virtue from faith alone?

What does “and through it, though he is dead, he still speaks” mean? So as not to cast them into deep dejection, he shows that Abel has in part received his reward. How? The influence that comes from him is great, he means: “he still speaks.” That is, Cain killed him, but he did not kill his glory and his memory along with him. He is not dead; so neither will you die. For the more bitter a man’s sufferings, the greater his glory.

How does he “still speak”? This is a sign both that he is alive and that he is celebrated by everyone, admired, and called blessed. For whoever encourages others to be righteous is speaking, and no speech has such power as that man’s suffering. Just as the heavens speak simply by being seen, so does he by being remembered. Not if he had proclaimed himself, not if he had ten thousand tongues and were still alive, would he have been admired as he is now. In other words, these things do not happen without consequence, or lightly, and they do not pass away.

Verse 5: “By faith Enoch was taken away, so that he would not see death, and he was not found, because God had taken him away.” This man showed greater faith than Abel. How so? Because although he came after Abel, what happened to Abel was enough to turn him back. How? God knew beforehand that Abel would be killed, for he said to Cain, “You have sinned; do not add to it.” Though Abel honored him, God did not protect him. And yet not even this made Enoch indifferent. He did not say to himself: “What do I need toil and danger for? Abel honored God, and God did not protect him. What did the departed man gain from his brother’s punishment? What benefit could he get from it? Grant that Cain suffers severe punishment: what is that to the man who was killed?” [i]

He neither said nor thought anything like this. Passing beyond all such thoughts, he knew that if there is a God, there is certainly also a rewarder — even though at that time they knew nothing of a resurrection. But if those who as yet knew nothing of a resurrection, and saw things here that seemed to contradict it, pleased God like this, how much more should we? For they neither knew of a resurrection nor had any examples to look to. This very thing, then, made Enoch pleasing to God: that he received nothing. For he knew that God “is a rewarder.” How did he know it? “Because God rewarded Abel.” Is that what you say? So reason suggested other things, but faith the opposite of what could be seen. So even now, he would say, if you see that you receive nothing here, do not be troubled.

How was it “by faith” that “Enoch was taken away”? Because his pleasing God was the cause of his being taken away, and faith was the cause of his pleasing God. For if he had not known that he would receive a reward, how could he have pleased him? “But without faith it is impossible to please” him. How? If a person believes that there is a God and a recompense, he will have the reward. Where, then, does the pleasing come from?

One must “believe that he is” — not ‘what he is.’ If “that he is” needs faith and not reasoning, it is impossible to grasp by reasoning ‘what he is.’ If “that he is a rewarder” needs faith and not reasoning, how can reasoning take in his being? What reasoning could reach that? For some people say that the things that exist came about by themselves. Do you see that unless we have faith about everything — not only about recompense, but about the very existence of God — everything is lost to us? [k]

But many ask where Enoch was taken, and why he was taken, and why he did not die, neither he nor Elijah; and, if they are still alive, how they live, and in what form. But to ask such things is pointless. The Scriptures have said that the one was taken away and the other taken up; but where they are, and how they are, they have not added, for they say nothing beyond what is necessary. This happened — I mean his being taken away — right at the beginning, so that the human soul might receive a hope of the destruction of death and of the overthrow of the devil’s tyranny, a hope that death will be done away. For he was taken away not dead, but “so that he would not see death.”

That is why he added that he was taken away alive, because he was pleasing to God. A father who has threatened his son wishes, right after making the threat, to relax it; yet he holds out and stays firm, so that for a time he may discipline and correct the boy, and he lets the threat stand. So too God — to speak, as it were, in human terms — did not stay firm, but showed at once that death is done away. First he allowed death to happen, wishing to terrify the father through the son. Wishing to show that the sentence was truly fixed, he did not at first subject wicked men to this punishment, but a man who was pleasing to him — I mean the blessed Abel. And almost immediately after him he took Enoch away. Moreover, he did not raise Abel, so that they would not grow bold at once; but he took the other away while he was still alive. Through Abel he roused fear; through Enoch he gave them zeal to please him.

So those who say that all things are ruled and governed by themselves, and who do not expect a reward, are not pleasing to God — any more than the pagans are. For “he becomes a rewarder of those who diligently seek him,” by works and by knowledge.

Since, then, we have “a rewarder,” let us do everything so as not to be deprived of the rewards of virtue. For to neglect such a recompense, to scorn such a reward, deserves many tears. For as he is a rewarder to “those who diligently seek him,” so to those who do not seek him he is the opposite.

“Seek,” he says, “and you will find” (Matthew 7, verse 7). But how can we find the Lord? Think how gold is found: with much labor. “I sought the Lord with my hands,” it says, “by night before him, and I was not deceived” (Psalm 77, verse 2; Psalm 76, verse 3, in the Greek numbering). That is, let us seek God the way we seek something we have lost. Do we not fix our minds on it? Do we not ask everyone? Do we not travel from home? Do we not promise money?

Suppose, for instance, that one of us has lost his son. What do we not do? What land, what sea do we not go all around? Do we not count money and houses and everything else as secondary to finding him? And if we find him, we cling to him, we hold him fast, we do not let him go. Whenever we set out to look for anything at all, we take every kind of trouble to find what we are looking for. How much more ought we to do this with God, since we are seeking what we cannot do without — or rather, not in the same way, but much more! But since we are weak, at least seek God as you seek your money or your son. Will you not leave your home for him? Have you never left your home for money? Do you not take every kind of trouble? And when you have found it, are you not full of confidence?

“Seek,” he says, “and you will find.” For things that are sought need much care, especially where God is concerned. Many are the hindrances, many the things that darken, many that block our perception. The sun is plain to see, set out in public before everyone, and we have no need to search for it. But if, on the other hand, we bury ourselves and turn everything upside down, we need much labor to look at the sun. So it is here too. If we bury ourselves in the depths of evil cravings, in the darkness of passions and of the business of this life, it is with difficulty that we look up, with difficulty that we raise our heads, with difficulty that we see clearly. Someone buried underground comes toward the sun exactly as far as he sees upward. So let us shake off the earth; let us break through the mist that lies on us. It is thick and dense, and it does not let us see clearly. [n]

“And how is this cloud broken through?” If we draw to ourselves the rays of “the sun of righteousness.” “The lifting up of my hands,” it says, “is an evening sacrifice” (Psalm 141, verse 2). With our hands let us lift up our minds too. Those of you who have been initiated know what I mean; perhaps you even recognize the expression, and see at a glance what I have hinted at. Let us raise our thoughts on high.

I myself know many men who are almost hanging clear of the earth, stretching their hands upward beyond all measure, distressed that they cannot be lifted into the air, and praying in this way with all earnestness. This is how I would have you always — and if not always, at least very often; and if not very often, at least now and then, at least in the morning prayers, at least in the evening prayers. For tell me, can you not stretch out your hands? Stretch out your will; stretch it as far as you like, even to heaven itself. Even if you wish to touch the very summit, even if you would climb higher and walk on it, the way is open to you. For our mind is lighter than any winged creature, and soars higher.

And when it receives grace from the Spirit, oh, how swift it is! How quick! How it takes in everything! How it never sinks down or falls to the ground! Let us provide ourselves with these wings; by them we will be able to fly even across the stormy sea of this present life. The swiftest birds fly unharmed over mountains and woods, seas and rocks, in a brief moment of time. So too the mind: when it has wings, when it is set apart from the things of this life, nothing can lay hold of it. It is higher than everything, higher even than the flaming arrows of the devil.

The devil is not so good an archer that he can reach this height. He does shoot his arrows, for he has no shame at all; yet he does not hit the mark. The arrow comes back to him without effect — and not only without effect, but it falls on his own head. For whatever he shoots must strike something. When men shoot, the arrow either strikes the one it was aimed at, or pierces a bird, or a fence, or a garment, or a piece of wood, or the empty air; so it is with the devil’s arrow too. It must strike something, and if it does not strike the one it was aimed at, it must strike the one who shot it. We can learn from many cases that when we are not hit, he himself is certainly hit. For example, he plotted against Job: he did not hit him, but was struck himself. He plotted against Paul: he did not hit him, but was struck himself. If we keep watch, we will see this happening everywhere. For even when he does strike, he is hit; much more, then, when he does not.

So let us turn his weapons against himself. Having armed and fortified ourselves with the shield of faith, let us stand guard steadfastly, so that no attack can take us. Now, the devil’s arrow is evil craving. Anger above all is a fire, a flame: it catches, destroys, consumes. Let us quench it with patience, with forbearance. For as red-hot iron dipped in water loses its fire, so an angry man who runs up against a patient one does the patient man no harm. Rather, he does him good, and is himself more thoroughly subdued. [p]

Nothing equals patience. A patient person is never insulted. Just as bodies of diamond are not wounded, neither are such souls, for they are beyond the reach of the arrows. The patient person stands high — so high that no shot can wound him. When someone is in a rage, laugh. But do not laugh openly, or you will provoke him; laugh inwardly, on his account. For when children strike us in a passion, as though they were taking revenge on us, we laugh. If you laugh, then, there will be as great a difference between you and him as between a child and a grown man. But if you rage, you have made yourself a child, for angry people are more senseless than children. If someone sees a child in a rage, does he not laugh at him?

“The man of little spirit,” it says, “is exceedingly simple” (Proverbs 14, verse 29). The simple, then, is a child. And “the one who is patient,” it says, “is abundant in wisdom.” Let us pursue this “abundant wisdom,” then, so that we may attain the good things promised us in Christ Jesus 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.