Homily 49 — Matthew 14, verses 13 to 22

“But when Jesus heard of it, he departed from there by boat to a deserted place by himself; and when the crowds heard of it, they followed him on foot out of all the cities.” [a]

See how on every occasion he “departs”: when John was handed over, when John was killed, and when the Jews heard that he was making more disciples. For it is his will, for the most part, to conduct things in a human way, since the time did not yet call him to reveal his Godhead plainly. That is why he told his disciples to “tell no one that he is the Christ,” for he wanted this to become better known after his resurrection. And that is why he was not very severe with those of the Jews who were obstinate in their unbelief for a time, but was even inclined to be lenient with them.

And when he withdraws, he goes away not into a city but into the wilderness, and by boat, so that no one would follow.

But notice, please, how John’s disciples had now become more attached to Jesus. It was they who told him what had happened; for indeed they have left everything, and from now on they take refuge in him. So, along with their misfortune, the provision he had made beforehand in that answer of his did them no small good.

But why did he not withdraw before they brought him the news, since he knew what had happened before they reported it? To show in every way that his plan of salvation was real. For he wanted this confirmed not by his appearance only but by his actions, because he knew the devil’s craft, and that he would leave nothing undone to destroy this teaching. So for this purpose he withdraws. But even so the crowds do not leave him. They follow, riveted to him, and not even John’s tragic end frightened them. So great a thing is earnest desire, so great a thing is love; this is how it overcomes and drives away every danger. That is why they were at once rewarded as well. For, it says, “Jesus went out and saw a great crowd, and he had compassion on them, and he healed their sick.”

Great as their devotion was, what he did still went beyond anything their diligence could earn. That is why his reason for healing them is set out as well: his mercy, an intense mercy. And he heals them all.

And here he does not ask for faith. For by coming to him, by leaving their cities, by seeking him eagerly, and by staying with him even when hunger was pressing, they show their own faith.

But he is about to feed them as well. And he does not do it on his own initiative; he waits to be asked. On every occasion, as I have said, he keeps this rule: not to rush ahead into his miracles before anyone calls on him, but to act when he is called upon.

And why did none of the crowd come up and speak for them? They revered him greatly, and in their longing to stay with him they did not even feel their hunger. Nor, indeed, do his disciples say “Feed them” when they come to him, for they were still rather imperfect. What do they say, then?

“When it was evening,” it says, “his disciples came to him, saying, ‘This is a deserted place, and the hour is already past. Send the crowd away, so that they may go and buy themselves food.’”

For if even after the miracle they forgot what had been done, and after the baskets thought he was talking about loaves when he called the teaching of the Pharisees “leaven,” much less would they have expected anything of the kind when they had never yet seen such a miracle. And yet he had made a start by actually healing many sick people; but even so, they did not expect the miracle of the loaves from this. That is how imperfect they still were.

But notice, please, the Teacher’s skill, how clearly he leads them on toward believing. He did not say at once, “I will feed them,” which would not have been easily accepted. What did he say?

“But Jesus,” it is written, “said to them, ‘They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat.’”

He did not say, “I will give them,” but, “You give them,” for they still regarded him as a man. But even so they are not roused; they still reason as if with a man, saying, “We have only five loaves and two fish.” That is why Mark also says, “They did not understand the saying, for their heart was hardened.”

So, since they were still crawling on the ground, he at last brings in his own part and says, “Bring them here to me.” For though the place is deserted, the one who feeds the world is here; and though the hour is past, the one who is not subject to time is speaking with you. John also says that they were “barley loaves.” He does not mention it without purpose; he is teaching us to trample underfoot the pride of costly living. Such was the diet of the prophets too.

“So he took the five loaves and the two fish,” it says, “and ordered the crowd to sit down on the grass. And looking up to heaven, he blessed, and broke, and gave to his disciples, and the disciples to the crowd. And they all ate and were filled, and they took up twelve baskets full of the pieces that were left over. And those who had eaten were about five thousand men, besides women and children.” [f]

Why did he look up to heaven and bless? Two things had to be believed about him: that he is from the Father, and that he is equal to him. But the proofs of these seemed to contradict each other. His equality was shown by his doing everything with authority; but they could not be persuaded that he came from the Father in any other way than by his doing everything with great humility, with reference to the Father, and calling on him over his works. That is why we see that he did neither the one kind of action only nor the other, so that both might be confirmed. Now he works miracles with authority, now with prayer.

Then again, so that what he did would not seem inconsistent, in the lesser things he looks up to heaven, but in the greater he does everything with authority. This is to teach you that in the lesser things too he acts this way not as one who receives power from somewhere else, but as one honoring the one who begot him. For example, when he forgave sins, and opened paradise and brought the thief into it, and set aside the old law most completely, and raised countless dead, and bridled the sea, and rebuked people’s unspoken thoughts, and created an eye — which are works of God alone and of no one else — we do not see him praying in a single case. But when he arranged for the loaves to multiply, a far lesser thing than all these, then he looks up to heaven. He does it at once to establish the truths I have spoken of, and to teach us not to touch a meal until we have given thanks to the one who gives us this food.

And why does he not make it out of nothing? He was stopping the mouths of Marcion and the Manichaeans, who separate his creation from him. He was teaching by his very works that all the things we see are his works and his creatures too, and showing that it is he himself who gives the fruits — he who said in the beginning, “Let the earth put forth grassy plants,” and, “Let the waters bring forth moving creatures that have life.”

For this is no lesser work than that one. Though those first works were made out of nothing, still they came out of water; and it was no greater thing to produce fruits out of the earth, and moving creatures with life out of the water, than to make so many loaves out of five — and out of fish too, which was a sign that he was ruler of both the earth and the sea.

So, since the sick had always been the subjects of his miracles, he now does a kindness for everyone together, so that the many would not only watch what happened to others but share in the gift themselves.

And the very thing that the Jews thought a marvel in the wilderness — they said, at any rate, “Can he give bread too? Or prepare a table in the wilderness?” — this he shows in his works. With this in view he also leads them into the wilderness, so that the miracle would be far beyond suspicion, and no one could think that some nearby village had contributed anything to the meal. For this reason the hour is mentioned too, and not only the place.

And we learn something else as well: the self-restraint the disciples practiced in the things they needed, and how little they thought of food. There were twelve of them, and they had only five loaves and two fish. That is how secondary the things of the body were to them; that is how they clung to spiritual things alone.

And they did not hold on even to that little, but gave it up when asked. This should teach us that even if we have only a little, we ought to give that up too to those in need. For when they are told to bring the five loaves, they do not say, “And where are we to get food? How are we to satisfy our own hunger?” They obey at once.

And besides what I have mentioned, he makes it out of the materials they had for this purpose, as I at least think: to lead them to faith, for they were still rather weak. That is also why “he looks up to heaven.” For of his other miracles they had many examples, but of this one none.

“He took the loaves,” then, “and broke them, and gave them through his disciples.” He did this to honor them — and not only to honor them, but also so that when the miracle had been done they would not disbelieve it, or forget it once it was past, since their own hands would bear them witness. That is also why he lets the crowds feel hungry first, and waits for the disciples to come to him first and ask him, and has the people sit down through them, and distributes through them. He meant to win every one of them over in advance by their own admissions and their own actions. [j]

That is also why he takes the loaves from them: so that there would be many witnesses to what was being done, and they would have reminders of the miracle. For if they forgot even after all this, what would have happened to them if he had left out these precautions?

And he orders them to sit down on the trampled grass, teaching the crowds self-denial. For he wanted not only to feed their bodies but also to teach their souls. So by the place, by giving them nothing more than loaves and fish, by setting the same food before all and making it shared, and by giving no one more than another, he was teaching them humility, self-control and love, to be of one mind with one another, and to hold all things in common.

“And he broke and gave to the disciples, and the disciples to the crowd.” He broke the five loaves and gave them, and the five multiplied in the disciples’ hands. And he does not stop the miracle even there. He made them run over — run over not as whole loaves but as broken pieces, to show that these were what remained of those loaves, and so that those who were not there might learn what had been done. That was why he let the crowds get hungry: so that no one would suppose what took place was an illusion.

This is also why he made exactly twelve baskets remain: so that Judas too might carry one. He was able, of course, simply to satisfy their hunger; but then the disciples would not have known his power, since this had happened in Elijah’s case too.

In any case, the Jews were so amazed at him over this that they even wanted to make him king, though they did this over none of his other miracles.

What reasoning could explain how the loaves multiplied; how they came streaming together in the wilderness; how they were enough for so many — for there were “five thousand men, besides women and children,” which is high praise of the people, that women as well as men followed him; how the leftovers came to be — for this again is no less than the first — and became so plentiful that the baskets were equal in number to the disciples, neither more nor less?

Having taken up the broken pieces, then, he gave them not to the crowds but to the disciples, because the crowds were still more imperfect than the disciples.

And after working the miracle, “immediately he compelled his disciples to get into a boat and go ahead of him to the other side, while he sent the crowds away.”

For even if, while they could see him, he had seemed to be presenting an illusion and not to have worked a real deed, surely he could not seem so in his absence as well. So for this reason, putting what he had done to a strict test, he told those who had the reminders and the proof of the miracles to go away from him.

And besides this, when he is doing great works he sends the crowds and the disciples elsewhere, teaching us never to chase after the glory that comes from people, or to gather a crowd around ourselves. And the words “he compelled them” show how closely the disciples kept by him.

His pretext for dismissing them was the crowd, but he himself meant to go up into the mountain. And he did this to teach us neither to be always mixing with crowds nor always to run away from them, but to do each as it is useful, and to give each its proper turn.

Let us learn, then, to wait on Jesus ourselves as well — but not for his generosity in things of the senses, or we will be rebuked as the Jews were. For he says, “You seek me not because you saw the miracles, but because you ate of the loaves and were filled.” That is why he does not work this miracle continually, but only a second time: so that they might be taught not to be slaves to their stomachs, but to cling without ceasing to the things of the Spirit. So let us cling to these too. Let us seek the heavenly bread, and once we have received it, let us throw away every worldly care. For if those people left houses and cities and relatives and everything, and stayed in the wilderness, and did not go away when hunger was pressing, how much more ought we, coming to such a table, to show a greater self-mastery, to set our love on the things of the Spirit, and to seek the things of the senses as secondary to them. [m]

For even they were blamed not because they sought him for the bread, but because they sought him for this only, and for this first of all. If anyone despises the great gifts and clings to the small ones — the very ones the giver wants him to despise — he loses these too; just as, on the other hand, if we love the great ones, he adds the small ones as well. For these are only an add-on to the others, so cheap and trifling are they compared with those, however great they may be. So let us not spend our effort on them, but count gaining them and losing them alike as a matter of indifference, just as Job neither clung to them when he had them nor looked for them when they were gone. That is why they are called “things for use”: not so that we would bury them in the earth, but so that we would use them rightly.

And just as every craftsman has his own particular skill, so should the rich man. He does not know how to work in bronze, or build ships, or weave, or build houses, or anything of the kind. Then let him learn to use his wealth rightly and to pity the poor; so he will know an art better than all of those.

For this art truly stands above all the others. Its workshop is built in heaven. Its tools are not of iron and bronze but of goodness and a right will. Its teacher is Christ, and his Father. “Be merciful,” he says, “as your Father who is in heaven.”

And what is truly marvelous: though it is so far superior to the rest, it needs no labor and no length of time to be perfected. It is enough to have willed it, and the whole is accomplished.

But let us see its end too, what it is. What, then, is its end? Heaven; the good things in the heavens; that glory beyond words; the spiritual bridal chambers; the bright lamps; living with the Bridegroom; and the other things that no speech, and not even understanding, is able to set out.

So here too it differs greatly from all the others. Most arts benefit us for the present life, but this one for the life to come as well.

But if it so far surpasses even the arts we need for the present life — medicine, for instance, and house-building, and all the others like them — much more does it surpass the rest, which anyone who examined them closely would not even allow to be arts. That is why I at least would not call those others arts at all, since they are unnecessary. For how are fancy cookery and the making of sauces useful to us? In no way. On the contrary, they are thoroughly useless and harmful, damaging both body and soul by bringing on us luxury, the mother of all diseases and sufferings, together with great extravagance. [p]

And not only these. I for one would not allow even painting or embroidery to be an art, for they only throw people into useless expense. The arts ought to be concerned with things necessary and important to our life, to supply them and work them up. For this is why God gave us skill at all: so that we might find ways to furnish our life. But what use is it, I ask you, that there should be figures on walls or on clothes? For the same reason the sandal-makers too, and the weavers, should have large parts of their trades cut away. For they have turned most of it into vulgar display, corrupting its necessary use and mixing an evil craft with an honest art. The same has happened with building too. But even building, as long as it builds houses and not theaters, and works on necessary things and not superfluous ones, I call an art. So too with weaving: as long as it makes clothes and bedcovers, but does not imitate the spiders and overwhelm people with great absurdity and unspeakable effeminacy, so long I call it an art.

And the sandal-maker’s trade, as long as it makes sandals, I will not rob of the name of art. But when it perverts men into the mannerisms of women, and makes them grow wanton and soft through their sandals, we will put it among the harmful and superfluous things and not even call it an art.

I know well that to many I seem too fussy in busying myself with these matters. But I will not hold back for that. For this is the cause of all our evils: that such faults are counted trifling at all, and so are disregarded.

And you say: “What sin could be of less account than this — having an ornamented, glittering sandal that fits the foot? If it seems right to call it a sin at all.”

Do you want me, then, to let my tongue loose on it and show how great its ugliness is? And will you not be angry? Or rather, even if you are angry, I do not much care. For you yourselves are to blame for this folly, since you do not even think it is a sin, and so you force us to take up the rebuke of this extravagance. Come, then, let us examine it and see what sort of evil it is. When silk threads, which it is not fitting to have woven even into your clothes, are sewn by you into your shoes, what reproach, what ridicule do these things deserve?

And if you despise our judgment, hear the voice of Paul, forbidding these things with great earnestness, and then you will see how absurd they are. What does he say? “Not with braided hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly clothing.” What favor, then, can you deserve, when Paul forbids even the married woman to have costly clothing, and you carry this effeminacy even to your shoes, and there is no end to your contrivances for the sake of this ridiculous disgrace? Yes: first a ship is built, then rowers are mustered, and a lookout for the bow, and a helmsman; a sail is spread, and an ocean crossed; and the merchant leaves wife and children and country, trusts his very life to the waves, comes to the land of the barbarians, and goes through countless dangers for these threads — so that after it all you may take them and sew them into your shoes and decorate the leather. What could be worse than this folly?

But the old ways are not like these; they are such as become men. That is why I, for my part, expect that in time the young men among us will even wear women’s shoes and not be ashamed. And what is more grievous, their fathers see these things and are not much displeased, but even count it a matter of indifference.

Do you want me to add what is more grievous still: that these things are done even while there are many poor? Do you want me to set before you Christ, hungry, naked, wandering everywhere, in chains? How many thunderbolts must you deserve, when you overlook him lacking necessary food, and adorn these pieces of leather with such diligence? And he, when he was giving laws to his disciples, would not even allow them to have shoes at all; but we cannot bear to walk — I do not say barefoot, but even with our feet shod as they ought to be.

What, then, can be worse than this ugliness, this absurdity? For the thing shows a soul that is, first, effeminate; then unfeeling and cruel; then fussy and busy with trifles. For when will someone taken up with these superfluous things be able to attend to anything necessary? When will such a young man bear to take care of his soul, or even to consider that he has a soul? Yes, the man who cannot help admiring such things will surely be a trifler; the man who neglects the poor for their sake, cruel; the man who spends all his diligence on them, empty of virtue.

For the man who fusses over the beauty of threads, and the bloom of colors, and the tendrils worked in such weaving — when will he be able to look up at the heavens? When will he admire the beauty there, when he is excited about a kind of beauty that belongs to pieces of leather, and is bent toward the earth? God has stretched out the heavens and lit up the sun, drawing your eyes upward; and you force yourself to look downward, to the earth, like the pigs, and obey the devil. For it is this wicked demon who devised this ugliness, to draw you away from that beauty. For this purpose he has drawn you this way; and God, showing the heavens, is outdone by a demon showing certain skins — or rather not even skins, for these too are God’s works, but effeminacy and a bad kind of skill.

And the young man goes about bent toward the earth — he who is required to seek wisdom about the things in heaven — priding himself more on these trifles than if he had done some great and good deed. He walks on tiptoe through the marketplace, and so breeds needless griefs and worries for himself: that he may stain them with mud in winter, or cover them with dust when summer comes.

What are you saying, man? You have thrown your whole soul into the mire through this extravagance, and you ignore it as it trails on the ground, and you are so anxious about a pair of shoes? Consider what they are for, and respect your own verdict on them. Your shoes were made to tread on mud and mire and all the dirt on the pavement. Or if you cannot bear this, take them and hang them from your neck, or put them on your head. You laugh when you hear this. But I am inclined to weep for these men’s madness and their earnest care over such things. For they would really rather stain their body with mud than those pieces of leather.

In this way, then, they become triflers; and in another way they become lovers of money as well. For the man who has grown used to being frantic and eager over such things needs great expense and a large income for his clothes and everything else too. If he has a generous father, his slavery becomes worse and his absurd fancy stronger; but if a stingy one, he is driven to other disgraces in order to scrape together a little money for such expenses. That is why many young men have even sold their manhood, have become hangers-on of the rich, and have taken on other slavish services, buying by these means the fulfillment of such desires.

So it is plain from this that such a man is sure to be at once a lover of money, a trifler, and the laziest of all men about important things, and that he will be forced to commit many sins. And no one will deny that he is cruel and hungry for empty glory too. Cruel, because when he sees a poor man, his love of finery makes him act as if he did not even see him; while he is decking out these things with gold, he overlooks the man perishing of hunger. Hungry for empty glory, because even in such little matters he trains himself to hunt for the admiration of onlookers. For I suppose no general prides himself as much on his legions and trophies as our dissolute young men do on the decoration of their shoes, on their trailing garments, on the dressing of their hair. And yet all these are the works of other people, in their own trades. But if people do not stop boasting emptily over the works of others, when will they stop over their own?

Shall I mention still other things, more grievous than these? Or are even these enough for you? Very well, I must end my speech here. For even this much I have said because of those who like to argue, and who insist that the thing is not so very wrong.

And although I know that many of the young will not even pay attention to what I have said, being thoroughly drunk with this fancy once and for all, I still ought not to keep silent for that reason. For fathers who have understanding and are still sound will be able to force them, even against their will, into fitting decency.

So do not say, “This does not matter; that does not matter.” For this — this very thing — has ruined everything. Even through these things you ought to train them, and by what seems trifling make them serious, great-souled, and above outward finery; and so we will find them proven in the great things too. For what is more ordinary than learning one’s letters? And yet this is how people become orators, and sophists, and philosophers; and if they do not know their letters, they will never have that knowledge either. And I have said this not to young men only, but to women too, and to young girls. For they too are open to the same charges, and much more, since modesty is especially fitting for a virgin. So count what has been said to the others as said to you as well, so that we need not repeat the same things again.

For it is high time now to close our talk with prayer. So all of you pray with us, that the young men of the church, above all, may be enabled to live orderly lives and to reach an old age worthy of them. For those who do not live so, it would surely be better not to reach old age at all. But for those who have grown old even in youth, I pray that they may also reach the very depth of gray hairs, and become fathers of children who prove worthy, and be a joy to those who gave them birth, and above all to the God who made them; and that they may root out every sickly fancy — not only the one about their shoes or their clothes, but every other kind too.

For neglected youth is like untilled land: it brings forth many thorns on every side. So let us send the fire of the Spirit upon them and burn up these wicked desires. Let us break up our fields and make them ready to receive the seed, and let us show the young men among us to be of more sober mind than the old men elsewhere. For this is the truly marvelous thing, when chastity shines out in youth. The man who is chaste in old age cannot have a great reward, since his age gives him complete security. But what is wonderful is to enjoy calm in the midst of waves, to be in a furnace and not be burned, to be young and not run wild.

With these things in mind, then, let us imitate that blessed Joseph, who shone through all these trials, so that we may attain the same crowns he did. May we all attain them, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom be glory to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.