Homily 29 — Hebrews 12, verses 4 to 10

“You have not yet resisted to the point of blood, struggling against sin. And you have forgotten the exhortation that speaks to you as to children: ‘My son, do not despise the discipline of the Lord, nor grow faint when you are rebuked by him. For the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and scourges every son whom he receives.’” [a]

There are two kinds of comfort that seem to be opposed to each other, and yet each gives the other great strength; and he has put both of them forward here. The first is when we say that people have suffered much. The soul is refreshed when it has many witnesses to its own sufferings, and he brought this in above, when he said, “Remember the former days, in which, after you had been enlightened, you endured a great struggle with sufferings” (Hebrews 10, verse 32). The second is when we say, “You have suffered nothing great.” The first, when the soul has been worn out, refreshes it and lets it catch its breath. The second, when it has grown lazy and careless, turns it around again and pulls down its pride.

So, to keep any pride from springing up in them because of that testimony to their sufferings, see what he does. “You have not yet,” he says, “resisted to the point of blood, struggling against sin.” And he did not say this straight away. First he showed them all those who had stood firm “to the point of blood,” and then brought in the glory of Christ, his sufferings; only after that did he go on easily with what he had to say. He says this also in writing to the Corinthians: “No trial has overtaken you except what is common to man” (First Corinthians 10, verse 13) — that is, a small one. For this is enough to rouse the soul and set it right: when it considers that it has not yet risen to the whole of the trial, and takes courage from what has already happened to it.

What he means is this: You have not yet submitted to death. Your loss has gone as far as your money, your reputation, and being driven from place to place. But Christ shed his blood for you, while you have not shed yours for yourselves. He fought for the truth even to death, fighting for you, while you have not yet entered into dangers that threaten death.

“And you have forgotten the exhortation.” That is, you have let your hands go slack; you have grown faint. “You have not yet,” he said, “resisted to the point of blood, struggling against sin.” Here he shows that sin is both very strong and armed as well. For the words “you have resisted” — that is, “you have stood firm against” — are used of those who stand their ground.

“Which,” he says, “speaks to you as to sons: ‘My son, do not despise the discipline of the Lord, nor grow faint when you are rebuked by him.’” He has drawn his encouragement from the facts themselves; now, over and above that, he adds the encouragement drawn from reasoning, from this testimony. [d]

“Do not grow faint,” he says, “when you are rebuked by him.” It follows that these things come from God. And this too is no small comfort: to learn that it is God’s doing that such things have power, since it is he who allows them. As Paul too says: “He said to me, ‘My grace is enough for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness’” (Second Corinthians 12, verse 9). It is he who allows them.

“For the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and scourges every son whom he receives.” You cannot say that any righteous man is without affliction. Even if he seems to be, we do not know his other afflictions. So every righteous man must of necessity pass through affliction. For it is Christ’s own declaration that the wide and broad way leads to destruction, but the narrow and hard one to life (Matthew 7, verses 13 and 14). If, then, it is possible to enter into life by that way, and by no other, then all who have departed to life, however many they are, have entered in by the narrow way.

Verse 7: “You endure discipline,” he says — not for punishment, not for vengeance, not for suffering. See: the very things from which they supposed God had abandoned them are the things from which, he says, they may be confident that they have not been abandoned. It is as if he had said: Because you have suffered so many evils, do you suppose that God has left you and hates you? If you were not suffering, then it would be right to suppose that. For if “he scourges every son whom he receives,” the one who is not scourged is perhaps not a son.

“What then? Do bad men not suffer distress?” They do suffer it. How, then? He did not say, “Everyone who is scourged is a son,” but, “Every son is scourged.” In every case he scourges his son. So what would have to be shown is whether any son is not scourged — and that you could not show. There are many wicked men too who are scourged: murderers, robbers, sorcerers, grave robbers. But these are paying the penalty for their own wickedness. They are not scourged as sons; they are punished as wicked men. But you are scourged as sons.

Then again he argues from common custom. Do you see how he brings up arguments from every side — from the facts in Scripture, from its words, from our own ideas, from examples in ordinary life? [f]

Verse 8: “But if you are without discipline,” and so on. Do you see that he said what I just mentioned, that it is not possible to be a son without being disciplined? In families, fathers do not concern themselves with their illegitimate children, even if they learn nothing and make nothing of themselves; but for their legitimate sons they are afraid that they will become lazy. So it is here. If, then, not being disciplined is the mark of illegitimate children, we ought to rejoice at discipline, since it is the sign of being legitimate. “God deals with you as with sons” — for this very reason.

Verse 9: “Furthermore, we have had fathers of our flesh who corrected us, and we respected them.” Again he reasons from their own experience, from what they themselves went through. Just as he says above, “Remember the former days” (Hebrews 10, verse 32), so here too: “God,” he says, “deals with you as with sons,” and you could not say, “We cannot bear it.” Yes, “as with sons” — and sons dearly loved. For if they respect their “fathers of the flesh,” how will you not respect your heavenly Father?

But the difference does not come from this alone, or from who the persons are; it comes also from the reason itself and from what is done. He does not discipline on the same grounds as they do. They did it with an eye to “what seemed good to them” — that is, often to satisfy their own pleasure, and not always looking to what was best. But here that cannot be said. He does this for no interest of his own, but for you, and for your benefit alone. They did it so that you might be useful to them as well, often without good reason; here there is nothing of that kind. Do you see that this too brings comfort?

For we are most closely attached to our earthly parents when we see that it is not for any interest of their own that they command us or advise us, but that all their earnestness is wholly and solely for our sake. This is genuine love, love in reality: when we are loved though we are of no use to the one who loves us — not so that he may receive, but so that he may give. He disciplines, he does everything, he takes every care, so that we may become able to receive his good gifts.

Verse 10: “For they indeed,” he says, “disciplined us for a few days as seemed good to them, but he for our good, that we might share in his holiness.”

What is “his holiness”? It is his purity, so that we become worthy of him, as far as we are able. He earnestly desires that you should receive, and he does everything so that he may give to you; and do you not earnestly try to receive? “I said to the Lord,” one says, “‘You are my Lord, for you have no need of my good things’” (Psalm 16, verse 2).

“Furthermore,” he says, “we have had fathers of our flesh who corrected us, and we respected them. Shall we not much more be subject to the Father of spirits, and live?” “The Father of spirits” means the Father either of spiritual gifts, or of prayers, or of the bodiless powers. If we die in this way, then “we shall live. For they indeed disciplined us for a few days as seemed good to them” — for what seems good is not always for our good — “but he for our good.”

So discipline is “for our good”; so discipline is “a sharing in holiness.” And very much so. For when it drives out laziness, and evil craving, and love of the things of this life; when it helps the soul; when it makes us think lightly of everything here — for affliction does this — is it not holy? Does it not draw down the grace of the Spirit? [i]

Let us consider the righteous, and what made them all shine out so brightly. Was it not affliction? And, if you like, let us count them from the first and from the very beginning: Abel, and Noah himself. For it is not possible that he, the only one among so great a crowd of the wicked, was not afflicted. It says, “Noah,” alone, “being perfect in his generation, pleased God” (Genesis 6, verse 9). Think, I beg you: if now, when we have countless people whose virtue we can imitate — fathers, and children, and teachers — we are as distressed as we are, what must we suppose he suffered, alone among so many? But should I speak of what happened at that strange and wonderful rain? Or should I speak of Abraham: his wanderings, one after another, his wife being carried off, the dangers, the wars, the famines? Should I speak of Isaac, the fearful things he went through, driven from every place, laboring in vain and toiling for others? Or of Jacob? There is no need to list all his afflictions, but it is fair to bring forward the testimony he himself gave when he was speaking with Pharaoh: “Few and evil have my days been, and they have not reached the days of my fathers” (Genesis 47, verse 9).

Or should I speak of Joseph himself? Or of Moses? Or of Joshua? Or of David? Or of Elijah? Or of Samuel? Or would you have me speak of all the prophets? Will you not find that all of them were made famous by their afflictions? Tell me, then: do you want to become famous through ease and luxury? But you cannot. Or should I speak of the apostles? But they went beyond them all. And Christ said this: “In the world you will have distress” (John 16, verse 33). And again: “You will weep and lament, but the world will rejoice” (John 16, verse 20). And that “narrow and hard is the way that leads to life” (Matthew 7, verse 14). The Lord of the way said that it is “narrow and hard,” and are you looking for the “broad” way? How is this not unreasonable? As a result you will not arrive at life, going by another way, but at destruction, for you have chosen the path that leads there.

Would you like me to set before you those who lived in luxury? Let us go back from the last to the first. The rich man who is burning in the furnace. The Jews who lived for the belly, “whose god is their belly” (Philippians 3, verse 19), who were forever seeking ease in the wilderness — they were destroyed. So too were those in Sodom, because of their gluttony; and those in the time of Noah — was it not because they chose this soft and dissolute life? For “they lived in luxury,” it says, “in plenty of bread” (Ezekiel 16, verse 49). It is speaking of those in Sodom. But if “plenty of bread” did so much harm, what should we say of other delicacies? Esau — was he not living at ease? And what of those who, being “sons of God” (Genesis 6, verse 2), looked at women and were carried over the cliff? And what of those who were driven mad by unbridled craving? And all the kings of the nations, of the Babylonians, of the Egyptians — did they not perish miserably? Are they not in torment?

And as for things now, tell me, are they not the same? Hear Christ saying, “Those who wear soft clothing are in kings’ houses” (Matthew 11, verse 8) — but those who do not wear such things are in heaven. For soft clothing loosens even a stern soul; it breaks it and saps its strength. Yes, even if it finds a body that is rough and hard, such delicate treatment soon makes it soft and weak.

Tell me, for what other reason do you suppose women are so weak? Is it from their sex alone? Not at all. It is from their way of life and their upbringing. Their keeping out of the open air, their idleness, their baths, their ointments, their multitude of perfumes, the delicate softness of their beds — these make them in the end what they are.

And so that you may understand, pay attention to what I say. Tell me: take from a garden one of the trees that stand in its uncultivated part, beaten by the winds, and plant it in a damp and shady place, and you will find it far poorer than it was where you first took it from. And that this is true appears from the fact that women brought up in the country are stronger than people who live in towns; they could beat many of them at wrestling.

For when the body becomes softer, the soul must of necessity share the harm, since for the most part its workings are affected by the condition of the body. In illness we are different people because of our weakness, and when we get well we are different again. Think of the strings of an instrument: when their tones are weak and slack, and they are not properly tuned, the excellence of the art is ruined as well, because it is forced to serve the poor condition of the strings. So it is with the body too: the soul receives many injuries from it, and is put under many constraints. For when the body needs a great deal of nursing, the soul endures a bitter slavery.

So I beg you, let us make the body strong by work, and not nurse it like an invalid. And my words are not for men only, but for women too. Why, woman, do you keep weakening your body with luxury and wearing it out? Why do you ruin your strength with fat? This fat is flabbiness, not strength. If you break off from these things and manage yourself differently, then your looks will improve too, just as you wish, once strength and a healthy body are there. But if you beset it with countless diseases, there will be neither a fresh color in your face nor good health, for you will always be low in spirits.

And you know that just as a bright, smiling sky makes a beautiful house look splendid, so cheerfulness of mind, added to a lovely face, makes it lovelier still; but if a woman is low in spirits and in pain, she becomes plainer. Diseases and pains produce low spirits, and diseases come from a body made too delicate by great luxury. So for this reason too, if you take my advice, you will run from luxury.

“But luxury gives pleasure.” Yes, but not as much as the trouble it brings. Besides, the pleasure goes no further than the palate and the tongue. When the table has been cleared and the food swallowed, you will be like someone who has eaten nothing — or rather, far worse off, since you carry away from it heaviness, bloating, headache, and a sleep like death, and often sleeplessness from being overfull, shortness of breath, and belching. And you would curse your belly bitterly, when you ought to curse your immoderate eating.

Let us not, then, fatten the body, but listen to Paul saying, “Make no provision for the flesh, to fulfill its cravings” (Romans 13, verse 14). Someone who throws food into the belly is like someone who takes food and throws it into a drain — or rather, not like that, but much worse. In the one case he uses the drain without harm to himself; in the other he breeds countless diseases. What nourishes is enough food, the amount that can be digested; what goes beyond our need not only does not nourish, but even spoils the rest. But no one sees these things, because of some prejudice and a misplaced pleasure. [n]

Do you want to nourish the body? Take away what is too much. Give it what is enough, as much as can be digested. Do not overload it, or you will swamp it. Enough is both nourishment and pleasure. Nothing gives so much pleasure as food well digested; nothing gives so much health; nothing gives such sharpness to the faculties; nothing does so much to keep disease away. For enough is nourishment and pleasure and health, but excess is injury, unpleasantness, and disease. What famine does, overeating does too — or rather, it brings worse evils. Famine carries a man off within a few days and sets him free; but overeating eats into the body and rots it, hands it over to long disease, and then to a most painful death. And yet we, while we think famine something greatly to be dreaded, run after overeating, which is more distressing than famine.

Where does this disease come from? Where does this madness come from? I am not saying that we should waste ourselves away, but that we should eat as much food as gives us pleasure — pleasure that is real — and can nourish the body, and keep it well ordered for us, fitted for the workings of the soul, well joined and firmly put together. But when the body becomes waterlogged with luxury, it cannot, in the flood, hold fast even its bolts, so to speak, and the joints that hold the frame together. The flood rushes in, and the whole thing breaks up and falls apart.

“Make no provision for the flesh,” he says, “to fulfill its cravings” (Romans 13, verse 14). He said it well. For luxury is fuel for unreasoning cravings. Even if the man who lives in luxury were the most philosophical of all men, he must of necessity be somewhat affected by the wine and the eating; he must grow slack; he must endure the greater flame. From this comes sexual immorality; from this come adulteries. For a hungry belly cannot breed craving — or rather, neither can one that has had just enough. What breeds shameful cravings is the belly made slack by luxury. Land that is very wet, and a manure heap that is soaked through and holds a great deal of damp, breed worms; while land that has been freed of such wetness bears abundant crops when there is nothing excessive in it. Even if it is not cultivated, it yields grass; and if it is cultivated, crops. So it is with us.

Let us not, then, make our flesh useless, or unprofitable, or harmful; let us plant useful crops in it, and fruit-bearing trees. Let us not weaken them with luxury, for trees too put out worms instead of fruit when they have gone rotten. In the same way the desire planted in us, if you water it beyond measure, breeds unreasoning pleasures — yes, the most utterly unreasoning. Let us then get rid of this destructive evil, so that we may be able to obtain the good things promised us, in Christ Jesus our Lord, with whom, to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.