Homily 24 — Hebrews 11, verses 13 to 16

“These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them far off, and embraced them, and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. For those who say such things make it plain that they are seeking a country. And truly, if they had been thinking of that country from which they came out, they would have had opportunity to return. But now they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. That is why God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.” [a]

The first virtue — no, the whole of virtue — is to be a stranger to this world and a foreigner in it, to have nothing in common with the things here, but to hang loose from them, as from things that are not our own. That is how those blessed disciples lived, of whom he says, “They wandered about in sheepskins and goatskins, destitute, afflicted, tormented — of whom the world was not worthy” (Hebrews 11, verses 37 and 38).

So they called themselves “strangers.” But Paul said something far beyond this. He did not merely call himself a stranger; he said that he was dead to the world, and the world dead to him. “For the world,” he says, “has been crucified to me, and I to the world” (Galatians 6, verse 14). But we, very much citizens and very much alive, busy ourselves with everything here as citizens do.

What the righteous were to the world — “strangers” and “dead” — that is what we are to heaven. And what they were to heaven — alive, and living as its citizens — that is what we are to the world. That is why we are dead: we have refused what is truly life and chosen this life that lasts only for a time. That is why we have provoked God to anger: when the enjoyments of heaven have been set before us, we are not willing to be parted from the things of earth. Like worms, we turn from earth to earth, and back again from this to that. In short, we are not willing to look up even for a little while, or to draw ourselves away from human affairs. As if drowned in stupor and sleep and drunkenness, we are dazed by our own imaginings.

Think of people in the grip of sweet sleep. They lie in bed not only through the night but even when morning has overtaken them and bright day has come, and they are not ashamed to indulge their pleasure and to turn the hours meant for business and work into a time for sleeping and idleness. That is exactly how we are. The day is drawing near; the night is far spent — or rather, it is already day, for “work,” it says, “while it is day” (John 9, verse 4). And while it is day we do everything that belongs to the night: we sleep, we dream, we indulge in luxurious fancies. The eyes of our understanding are closed as well as the eyes of our body. We speak wrongly; we talk nonsense. Even if someone gives us a deep wound, carries off all our property, or sets the very house on fire, we are not so much as aware of it. [b]

Or rather, we do not even wait for others to do this; we do it ourselves. Every day we pierce and wound ourselves. We lie there indecently, stripped bare of all good name and all honor. We do not hide our shameful deeds ourselves, nor let others hide them, but lie exposed to public shame, to the ridicule and the countless jokes of onlookers and passers-by.

Don’t you think that even the wicked laugh at people of the same character as themselves, and condemn them? God has placed within us a court that cannot be bribed and can never be wholly destroyed, even if we sink to the very lowest depth of vice. That is why even the wicked pass sentence on themselves. If someone calls them what they are, they are ashamed, they get angry, they call it an insult. So they condemn what they do — if not by their deeds, then by their words and by their conscience. No, even by their deeds: when they carry on their practices out of sight and in secret, they give the strongest proof of what they think of the thing itself.

Wickedness is so plain that everyone accuses it, even those who pursue it; and virtue is such that it is admired even by those who do not imitate it. The sexually immoral man will praise chastity; the greedy man will condemn injustice; the hot-tempered man will admire patience and blame quarrelsomeness; and the insolent man will blame insolence.

“Then why does he pursue these things?” Out of sheer laziness, not because he judges them good. Otherwise he would not be ashamed of the thing itself, or deny it when someone else accused him. Many, in fact, when caught, could not bear the shame and have even hanged themselves. That is how strong the witness within us is on the side of what is good and fitting. So what is good is brighter than the sun, and its opposite is uglier than anything.

The saints were “strangers and foreigners.” How, and in what way? And where does Abraham confess himself “a stranger and a foreigner”? Very likely he did confess it himself. But David certainly confessed, “I am a stranger” — and what else? — “as all my fathers were” (Psalm 39, verse 12). People who live in tents, who have to buy even a burial place with money, were plainly strangers in some sense, since they had nowhere even to bury their dead. [c]

What then? Did they mean they were “strangers” to the land of Palestine? Not at all. They meant the whole world, and with good reason. They saw in it none of the things they longed for, but everything foreign and strange. They wanted to practice virtue, but here there was much wickedness, and everything was quite foreign to them. They had no friend, no close acquaintance, except a very few. But how were they “strangers”? They had no care for the things here. And they showed it not in words but in deeds. How?

God said to Abraham, “Leave what seems to be your country and go to one that is foreign.” And he did not cling to his relatives, but left them as unconcernedly as if he were leaving a foreign land. God said to him, “Offer up your son,” and he offered him up as though he had no son — as though he had stripped off his own nature, so he offered him. The wealth he had gained was open to every passer-by, and he counted it as nothing. He gave up the first place to others. He threw himself into dangers. He suffered countless troubles. He built no splendid houses, enjoyed no luxuries, took no care for dress — all of them things of this world — but lived in every way as one who belonged to the city above. He showed hospitality, brotherly love, mercy, forbearance, and contempt for wealth, for present glory, and for everything else.

And his son was just like him. When he was driven away, when war was made on him, he yielded and gave way, as one living in a foreign land. For foreigners put up with whatever they suffer, since they are not in their own country. Even when his wife was taken from him, he bore this too, as one in a strange land, and lived in every way as one whose home was above, showing self-control and an orderly life. For after he had fathered a son, he had no more relations with his wife; and it was only when the flower of his youth had passed that he married her, showing that he did it not from passion but in service to God’s promise.

And Jacob — what did he do? Did he not ask only for bread and clothing, the things people ask for who are truly strangers, who have fallen into great poverty? When he was driven out, did he not give way, as a stranger does? Did he not work for wages? Did he not suffer countless hardships everywhere, as a stranger?

And these things, he says, they said “seeking” their “own country.” Oh, how great the difference! They were in labor pains every day, longing to be released from this world and to return to their country. But we, on the contrary, if a fever attacks us, drop everything, weep like little children, and are terrified of death. [g]

Not without reason are we affected this way. Since we do not live here like strangers, or like people hurrying home to their country, but like people being led away to punishment, we grieve. We have not used our circumstances as we should, but have turned the order of things upside down. That is why we grieve when we ought to rejoice. That is why we shudder like murderers or bandit chiefs about to be brought before the judgment seat, going over in their minds everything they have done, and fearful and trembling because of it.

They, however, were not like that; they pressed on. And Paul even groaned: “And we who are in this tent,” he says, “groan, being burdened” (Second Corinthians 5, verse 4). Such were Abraham and those with him. They were “strangers,” he says, with respect to the whole world, and “they sought a country.”

What sort of “country” was this? The one they had left? Not at all. If they had wished, what was stopping them from going back and becoming its citizens again? No, they sought the one in heaven. So they longed to depart from here, and in this way they pleased God; for “God was not ashamed to be called their God.”

Oh, what an honor! He consented “to be called their God.” What are you saying? He is called the God of the earth and the God of heaven — and you count it a great thing that “he is not ashamed to be called their God”? It is great, truly great, and a proof of surpassing blessedness. How so? He is called God of earth and of heaven, and of the nations too, because he created and formed them. But he is the God of those holy men not in this sense, but as a true friend is. [h]

Let me make it plain to you by an example. In large households, when some of the slaves put in charge of the house are very highly esteemed, manage everything themselves, and can speak very freely with their masters, the master is called by their name, and you can find many called that way. But what am I saying? Just as we might say the God not of the nations but of the world, so we might say “the God of Abraham.” But you do not know how great an honor this is, because we do not attain it. Even now he is called the Lord of all Christians, and yet the name goes beyond what we deserve. Think how great it would be if he were called the God of one person! He who is called the God of the whole world is “not ashamed to be called” the God of three men — and with good reason, for the saints would outweigh, I do not say the world, but ten thousand worlds like it. “For one man who does the will of the Lord is better than ten thousand transgressors” (Sirach 16, verse 3).

That they called themselves “strangers” in this sense is clear. But suppose they said they were “strangers” because they lived in a foreign land — why did David also call himself a stranger? Was he not a king? Was he not a prophet? Did he not spend his life in his own country? Why then does he say, “I am a stranger and a foreigner” (Psalm 39, verse 12)? How are you a stranger? “As all my fathers were,” he says. Do you see that they too were strangers? We have a country, he means, but it is not really our country. But how are you yourself a stranger? “With respect to the earth.” So they too were strangers with respect to the earth. For “as they were,” he says, so am I; and as he was, so were they.

Let us too become strangers, even now, so that God may “not be ashamed” of us “to be called our God.” It is a shame to him when he is called the God of the wicked, and he is ashamed of them, just as he is glorified when he is called the God of the good and the kind, of those who cultivate virtue. We ourselves refuse to be called the masters of our wicked slaves, and we disown them. If someone comes up to us and says, “So-and-so does countless bad things — he’s your slave, isn’t he?” we immediately say, “Not at all,” to rid ourselves of the disgrace. For a slave is closely bound to his master, and the discredit passes from the one to the other. But those men were so illustrious, so full of confidence, that he was not only “not ashamed to be called” by their names; he even says himself, “I am the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob” (Exodus 3, verse 6). [j]

Let us too, my beloved, become “strangers,” so that God may “not be ashamed of us” — so that he may not be ashamed of us and hand us over to hell. Such were the people who said, “Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name do many wonderful works?” (Matthew 7, verse 22)

But see what Christ says to them: “I do not know you” — the very thing masters do when wicked slaves run to them and they want to be rid of the disgrace. “I do not know you,” he says. “How then do you punish those you do not know?” “I said ‘I do not know you’ in a different sense: that is, ‘I deny you and disown you.’” May we never hear that fatal and terrible word! For if those who cast out demons and prophesied were denied because their life did not match their gifts, how much more will we be!

“And how is it possible that people who showed prophetic powers, worked miracles, and cast out demons should be denied?” It is likely that they changed afterward and became wicked, and so gained nothing even from their former virtue. For not only must our beginnings be splendid; our end must be more splendid still. [k]

Tell me: does not the orator take pains to make the end of his speech splendid, so that he may leave to applause? Does not a public official make his most splendid display at the close of his term? The wrestler — if he does not make a still more splendid showing and win to the very end, if after defeating everyone else he is defeated by the last, is not everything wasted for him? Even if a helmsman has crossed the whole ocean, if he wrecks his ship in the harbor, has he not lost all his earlier labor? And what about the doctor? If, after freeing the sick man from his disease, just as he is about to discharge him cured, he then kills him, has he not ruined everything? So too with virtue. All who have not added an end that fits the beginning, in tune and in harmony with it, are ruined and undone. Such are those who sprang from the starting line bright and exultant, and afterward grew faint and feeble. That is why they are both deprived of the prize and not acknowledged by their master.

Let those of us who are in love with wealth listen to this — for this is the greatest wrongdoing: “For the love of money is the root of all evil” (First Timothy 6, verse 10). Let those of us who want to make our present possessions greater listen. Let us listen, and at last put a stop to our greed, so that we do not hear the same words they will hear. Let us listen to them now and be on our guard, so that we do not hear them then. Let us listen now with fear, so that we do not listen then under punishment: “Depart from me,” he says, “I never knew you” (Matthew 7, verse 23) — not even then, he means, when you were making a show of your prophesying and casting out demons.

It is likely that he is also hinting here at something else: that even then they were wicked, and that from the beginning grace worked even through the unworthy. For if it worked through Balaam, how much more through the unworthy, for the sake of those who would profit by it.

But if even signs and wonders were no help in escaping punishment, much less will it help a man to hold the dignity of the priesthood. Even if he reaches the highest honor, even if grace works in him as far as his ordination, even if it works in all the other things for the sake of those who need his leadership, he too will hear, “I never knew you” — no, not even then, when grace was at work in you.

Oh, how strict the inquiry into purity of life will be there! How that alone is enough to bring us into the kingdom, while its absence hands a man over to destruction, though he has ten thousand miracles and signs to show! For nothing pleases God so much as an excellent way of life. “If you love me,” he declares (John 14, verse 15) — he did not say, “work miracles,” but what? — “keep my commandments.” And again, “I call you friends” (John 15, verse 14) — not when you cast out demons, but “if you keep my words.” Those things come from the gift of God; these come, after the gift of God, from our own diligence as well. Let us strive to become friends of God, and not remain his enemies. [m]

We are always saying these things; we are always giving these exhortations, both to ourselves and to you; and nothing more is gained. That is why I am afraid. I would have liked to keep silent, so as not to increase your danger. For when a person hears often and still does not act, that provokes the Lord to anger. But I am also afraid of that other danger, the danger of silence, if, appointed as I am to the service of the word, I should hold my peace.

What then shall we do to be saved? Let us begin to practice virtue as we have opportunity. Let us divide the virtues among ourselves as laborers divide their farm work. This month let us master speaking evil of others, insulting others, and unjust anger. Let us lay down a law for ourselves and say, “Today let us set this right.” Then in the next month let us train ourselves in forbearance, and in another, in some other virtue. And when we have become used to one virtue, let us go on to another — just as with the things we learn at school — guarding what is already gained and acquiring more.

After this let us go on to contempt for riches. First let us keep our hands from grabbing, and then let us give alms. Let us not simply mix everything together, with the same hands slaying and, so we suppose, showing mercy. After this let us go on to some other virtue, and from that to another. “Filthiness and foolish talking and jesting — let them not even be named among you” (Ephesians 5, verses 3 and 4). Let us be on the right road this far. There is no need to spend money, no need of labor, no need of sweat. It is enough just to be willing, and everything is done. There is no need to travel a long way or to cross a boundless ocean — only to be in earnest and of a ready mind, and to put a bridle on the tongue. Untimely insults, anger, disorderly cravings, luxury, extravagance — let us throw them off, and the desire for wealth too, out of our soul, along with swearing falsely and the habit of oaths.

If we cultivate ourselves this way, pulling out the old thorns and sowing the heavenly seed, we will be able to attain the good things promised. For the Farmer will come and store us up in his barn, and we will attain all good things. May we all attain them, by 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.