Homily 56 — Matthew 16, verse 28, to 17, verse 9

“Truly, truly, I tell you, there are some of those standing here who will not taste death until they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.” [a]

He had said a great deal about dangers and death, about his own suffering and the slaughter of the disciples, and he had laid those stern commands on them. All this belonged to the present life and was close at hand, while the good things were a matter of hope and expectation — for example, “Those who lose their life save it”; “He is coming in the glory of his Father”; “He gives out his rewards.” So he wanted to reassure their very eyes, and to show them what kind of glory it is in which he is to come, as far as it was possible for them to learn it. Even in their present life he shows and reveals this, so that they would no longer grieve, either over their own death or over their Lord’s — and Peter above all, in his grief.

And see what he does. He had spoken of hell and of the kingdom; for he had made both plain, as much by saying, “Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses it for my sake will find it,” as by saying, “He will repay each person according to his deeds.” Having spoken of both, then, he shows them the kingdom in the vision, but not hell yet.

Why? Because if they had been another sort of people, of a coarser kind, this too would have been necessary. But since they are tested and thoughtful men, he leads them by the gentler way. And that is not the only reason he makes this disclosure; it was also far more fitting for himself.

Not that he passes over that other subject either. In some places he all but brings the very realities of hell before our eyes: as when he paints the picture of Lazarus, and mentions the man who demanded the hundred denarii, and the one dressed in the filthy garments, and not a few others.

“And after six days he takes with him Peter and James and John.” Another evangelist says “after eight,” not contradicting this writer but agreeing with him completely. For the one counted both the very day on which he spoke and the day on which he led them up, while the other counted only the days in between. [c]

But notice, please, Matthew’s strict fairness: he does not hide those who were preferred to himself. John often does the same, recording Peter’s special praises with great sincerity. For the choir of these holy men was everywhere free of envy and empty glory.

So, taking the leaders, “he leads them up a high mountain by themselves, and he was transfigured before them. His face shone like the sun, and his clothes were white as the light. And Moses and Elijah appeared to them, talking with him.”

Why does he take only these? Because they stood above the rest. Peter showed his superiority by loving him intensely; John, by being intensely loved by him; and James, by the answer he gave together with his brother, when he said, “We are able to drink the cup.” And not by his answer only, but by his deeds as well: both by everything else he did, and by carrying out what he had said. For he was so zealous, and such a burden to the Jews, that Herod himself thought he was doing the Jews a very great favor by killing him.

But why does he not lead them up at once? To spare the other disciples from feeling something merely human. That is also why he leaves out the names of those who are to go up. The rest would have wanted very much to follow, since they were going to see a pattern of that glory, and they would have been hurt at being passed over. For although he made the disclosure in a somewhat bodily way, still the thing held a great deal to be longed for.

Why, then, does he foretell it at all? So that, because he had foretold it, they would be readier to grasp its lofty meaning; and so that, filled with a stronger longing over that span of days, they would be there with their minds fully awake and attentive.

But why does he also bring Moses and Elijah forward? One could mention many reasons. First of all, this one. The crowds were saying that he was Elijah, or Jeremiah, or one of the old prophets. So he brings the leaders of his choir, so that the disciples might see, even by this, the difference between the servants and the Lord, and that Peter had rightly been praised for confessing him the Son of God. [f]

Besides that, one may mention another reason as well. People were constantly accusing him of breaking the law, and they counted him a blasphemer for claiming a glory that did not belong to him, the Father’s own glory. They were saying, “This man is not from God, because he does not keep the Sabbath”; and again, “We are not stoning you for a good work, but for blasphemy, because you, being a man, make yourself God.” So that both charges might be shown to spring from envy, and he might be proved guilty of neither — so that it might be seen that his conduct was no breaking of the law, and that calling himself equal to the Father was no seizing of a glory not his own — he brings forward the men who had shone out in each of these respects.

He brings Moses, because Moses gave the law. The Jews could conclude that he would not have ignored its being trampled on, as they supposed, nor shown respect to the man who broke it and was the enemy of its founder. Elijah too, for his part, was jealous for the glory of God. If anyone had been God’s adversary, calling himself God and making himself equal to the Father when he was not what he claimed and had no right to it, Elijah was not the man to stand beside him and listen to him.

There is another reason one may mention along with those already given. What is it? To teach them that he has power over death and life, and rules both above and below. That is why he brings forward both a man who had died and one who had never yet suffered death.

The fifth motive — for this is a fifth, besides those mentioned — the evangelist himself has revealed. What was it? To show the glory of the cross, to comfort Peter and the others in their dread of his suffering, and to lift up their minds. For once the two had come, they were by no means silent; they “spoke,” it says, “of the glory that he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem” — that is, of his suffering and the cross, for that is what they always call it.

And not only in this way did he cheer them, but also by the very excellence of these men, which was just what he was especially demanding of the disciples themselves. I mean that, having said, “If anyone wants to come after me, let him take up his cross and follow me,” he sets before them men who had died ten thousand times for God’s decrees and for the people entrusted to them. For each of these lost his life and found it.

Each of them spoke boldly to tyrants, the one to the Egyptian, the other to Ahab, and that on behalf of heartless and disobedient people; and they were brought into the utmost danger by the very people they saved. Each of them wanted to draw people away from idolatry. Each was unlearned: the one was “slow of tongue” and dull of speech, and the other, for his part, was rather rough and rustic in his manner. Both kept voluntary poverty very strictly: Moses had made no gain, and Elijah had nothing more than his sheepskin. And this was under the old law, when they had not received so great a gift of miracles.

For what if Moses split a sea? Peter walked on the water, and was able to move mountains, and used to cure every kind of bodily disease, and to drive out savage demons, and by the shadow of his body to work those great and wonderful signs; and he changed the whole world. And if Elijah raised a dead man, these men raised ten thousand — and that before the Spirit had yet been given to them.

So he brings Moses and Elijah forward for this reason too. He wanted the disciples to imitate their kindly ways with the people, their presence of mind and their firmness: to be meek like Moses, jealous for God like Elijah, and full of tender care, as they both were. For the one endured a famine of three years for the Jewish people, and the other said, “If you will forgive them their sin, forgive it; if not, blot me out too from the book that you have written.” Of all this he was reminding them by the vision.

For he brought those men in glory, too, not so that the disciples would stop where those men stood, but so that they would go even beyond their boundary lines. For example, when the disciples said, “Shall we command fire to come down from heaven?” and mentioned Elijah as having done so, he said, “You do not know what kind of spirit you are of,” training them to bear wrongs patiently by the higher standard of the gift they had been given.

Let no one suppose that we are condemning Elijah as imperfect. We do not say that. He was indeed perfect, and highly so — but in his own times, when people’s minds were still in a way childish and needed that kind of schooling. Moses too was perfect in this respect; yet more is required of these men than of him. For “unless your righteousness exceeds the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

They were not entering Egypt, but the whole world, which was worse disposed than the Egyptians. They were not to speak with Pharaoh, but to fight hand to hand with the devil himself, the prince of wickedness. Yes, their appointed struggle was both to bind him and to plunder all his goods. And they did it by splitting not a sea but an abyss of ungodliness, through the rod of Jesse — an abyss with far more dangerous waves. See, at any rate, how many things there were to frighten the men: death, poverty, dishonor, their countless sufferings. They trembled at these more than the Jews of old at that sea. Yet in spite of all this he persuaded them to venture boldly against it all, and to pass through with complete safety, as though over dry ground.

So, to train them for all this, he brought forward the men who had shone out under the old law.

What, then, does the ardent Peter say? “It is good for us to be here.” He had heard that Christ was to go to Jerusalem and suffer, and he was still afraid and trembling for him. Even after his rebuke he did not dare to come up and say the same thing again, “Far be it from you”; but out of that fear he hints at the same thing again, obscurely, in other words. When he saw a mountain, and such seclusion and solitude, his thought was: “He is perfectly safe here, from the place itself — and not only from the place, but because he will not be going to Jerusalem anymore.” [l]

For he wanted him to stay there always; that is why he also speaks of “tents.” “If this can be,” he says to himself, “we will not go up to Jerusalem; and if we do not go up, he will not die, for he said the scribes would attack him there.”

He did not dare to say this outright. But wanting to arrange things this way, he said without hesitation: “It is good for us to be here, where Moses is present too, and Elijah — Elijah who brought down fire on the mountain, and Moses who entered the thick darkness and talked with God — and no one will even know where we are.”

Do you see how ardently he loves Christ? Do not look now at the fact that his way of urging it was not well weighed; see how ardent he was, how his love for Christ burned. And to prove that he did not say these things so much out of fear for himself, listen to what he says when Christ was foretelling his coming death and the attack on him: “I will lay down my life for your sake. Even if I must die with you, I will never deny you.”

And see how, even in the very midst of the actual dangers, he gave no thought to himself. We know that when so great a crowd surrounded them, far from running away, he even drew his sword and cut off the ear of the high priest’s servant. So far did he disregard his own safety, and fear for his Master. Then, because he had spoken as if stating a fact, he checks himself; and thinking, “What if I am rebuked again?”, he says, “If you wish, let us make three tents here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.”

What are you saying, Peter? Did you not a little while ago set him apart from the servants? Are you numbering him with the servants again? Do you see how very imperfect they were before the crucifixion? For although the Father had revealed it to him, he did not always hold on to the revelation, but was thrown into confusion by his alarm — not only the alarm I have mentioned, but another too, which came from that sight.

In fact, the other evangelists, to make this plain, and to show that the confusion of mind in which he said these things came from that alarm, wrote as follows. Mark says, “He did not know what to say, for they were terribly afraid.” And Luke, after his words “Let us make three tents,” added, “not knowing what he was saying.” Then, to show that he was gripped by great fear, both he and the others, Luke says, “They were heavy with sleep, and when they were awake they saw his glory.” By deep sleep here he means the deep stupor that the vision produced in them. For as eyes are darkened by too great a brightness, so they felt at that time. It was not night, I think, but day, and the overwhelming greatness of the light weighed down the weakness of their eyes.

What then? He himself says nothing, nor does Moses, nor Elijah. The one who is greater than all and more worthy of belief, the Father, sends a voice out of the cloud. [o]

Why out of the cloud? This is how God always appears. “Clouds and darkness are around him”; and, “He sits on a light cloud”; and again, “He makes the clouds his chariot”; and, “A cloud took him from their sight”; and, “Like the Son of Man coming on the clouds.” So that they might believe the voice comes from God, it comes from there.

And the cloud was bright. For “while he was still speaking, look, a bright cloud overshadowed them, and look, a voice came out of the cloud, saying, ‘This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased; listen to him.’”

When he threatens, he shows a dark cloud, as on Mount Sinai. For “Moses,” it says, “went into the cloud and into the thick darkness,” and “the smoke went up like vapor”; and the prophet, speaking of his threatening, said, “Dark water in clouds of the air.” But here, because he wanted not to frighten but to teach, the cloud is bright.

And since Peter had said, “Let us make three tents,” he showed them a tent not made with hands. That is why in the one case there was smoke and the vapor of a furnace, but in this one, light beyond words, and a voice.

Then, to show that the voice was not spoken about just any one of the three, but about Christ alone, the other two were taken away when the voice sounded. For if it had been spoken about just any one of them, this one would by no means have been left alone, with the two parted from him.

Why, then, did the cloud not take up Christ alone, but all of them together? If it had taken up Christ alone, he would have been thought to have uttered the voice himself. That is why the evangelist, too, to make this very point certain, says that the voice came from the cloud — that is, from God.

And what does the voice say? “This is my beloved Son.” Now if he is beloved, do not be afraid, Peter. You ought already to know his power and to be fully convinced of his resurrection; but since you do not know it, take courage at least from the Father’s voice. For if God is mighty, as he surely is, then clearly the Son is mighty too. So do not be afraid of those fearful things.

But if you do not yet accept that, then think at least of this other fact: he is a Son, and he is beloved. For “This,” it says, “is my beloved Son.” Now if he is beloved, do not be afraid, for no one gives up someone he loves. So do not be thrown into confusion. Even though you love him beyond measure, you do not love him as much as the one who begot him.

“In whom I am well pleased.” He loves him not only because he begot him, but because he is also equal to him in every respect and of one mind with him. So the bond of love is twofold, or rather threefold: because he is the Son, because he is beloved, because in him the Father is well pleased.

But what does “in whom I am well pleased” mean? It is as though he said, “In whom I find rest, in whom I take delight,” because he is perfectly equal to him in every respect, and there is one will in him and in the Father, and while remaining a Son he is in every respect one with the Father.

“Listen to him.” So even if he chooses to be crucified, you are not to oppose him.

“And when they heard it, they fell on their faces and were terrified. And Jesus came and touched them and said, ‘Get up, and do not be afraid.’ And when they raised their eyes, they saw no one except Jesus alone.” [q]

How was it that they were so dismayed when they heard these words? A similar voice had been uttered before this at the Jordan, and a crowd was present, and no one felt anything of the kind. And again afterward, when they said, “It thundered,” they did not experience anything like this either. How was it, then, that they fell down on the mountain? Because there was solitude, and height, and deep quiet, and a transfiguration full of awe, and a pure light, and a cloud spread out over them — all things that alarmed them greatly. The amazement pressed on them from every side, and they fell down in fear and in worship at once.

But so that the fear, lasting too long, would not drive out their memory of what they had seen, he quickly puts an end to their alarm. He is seen alone, and he commands them to tell no one about this until he has risen from the dead. For “as they were coming down from the mountain, he ordered them to tell the vision to no one until he had risen from the dead.”

For the greater the things said about him, the harder they were for most people to accept at that time, and the stumbling block of the cross was made all the greater by them.

So he tells them to keep silent. And not only that: he reminds them again of his suffering, and all but tells them the reason why he requires their silence. For he did not command them never to tell anyone, you see, but only “until he had risen from the dead.” And saying nothing of the painful part, he mentions only the good.

What then? Would they not stumble afterward? Not at all. What mattered was the time before the crucifixion. Afterward the apostles had been given the Spirit, and they had the voice of the miracles pleading their case, and from then on whatever they said was easily accepted, since the course of events proclaimed his power more clearly than a trumpet, and no stumbling block of that kind got in the way of what they were doing.

Nothing, then, is more blessed than the apostles, and especially the three, who were counted worthy to be under the same roof with the Lord, even in the cloud. [r]

But if we are willing, we too will see Christ — not as they saw him then on the mountain, but in far greater brightness. For he will not come in that way hereafter. Then, to spare his disciples, he revealed only as much of his brightness as they were able to bear; but hereafter he will come in the very glory of the Father, not with Moses and Elijah only, but with the countless host of the angels, with the archangels, with the cherubim, with those countless tribes, with no cloud over his head, but with heaven itself being folded up.

It is as with judges: when they judge in public, the attendants draw back the curtains and show them to everyone. In the same way, then, all people will see him seated, and the whole human race will stand before him, and he will answer them himself. To some he will say, “Come, you who are blessed by my Father; for I was hungry and you gave me food”; to others, “Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a few things, I will set you over many things.”

And again, passing the opposite sentence, he will answer some, “Depart into the everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels”; and others, “You wicked and lazy servants.” Some he will “cut in pieces” and “hand over to the torturers”; others he will order to be “bound hand and foot and thrown into the outer darkness.” After the axe the furnace will follow, and everything from the net that is thrown away will fall into it.

“Then the righteous will shine like the sun” — or rather, more than the sun. It is put this way not because their light will be so much and no more, but because we know no star brighter than this one; so he chose to set out the future brightness of the saints by the example we know.

On the mountain too, when it says, “He shone like the sun,” it was put that way for the same reason. The apostles showed by falling down that the comparison did not come up to his light. Had the brightness not been pure and unmixed, but only comparable to the sun’s, they would not have fallen; they would easily have borne it.

So the righteous will shine like the sun, and more than the sun, at that time; but the sinners will suffer the utmost. Then there will be no need of records, proofs, or witnesses. For the one who judges is all of these himself: witness, and proof, and judge. He knows all things exactly; for “all things are naked and laid open to his eyes.”

No one there will appear rich or poor, powerful or weak, wise or foolish, slave or free. These masks will be shattered, and the inquiry will be into their deeds alone. For if in our own courts, when someone is tried for trying to seize the throne, or for murder, whoever he may be — governor, or consul, or what you will — all these ranks melt away, and the man who is convicted suffers the utmost penalty, how much more will it be so there.

So, to keep that from being our lot, let us lay aside our filthy clothes and put on the armor of light, and the glory of God will wrap itself around us. For what is there in his commands that is hard at all? Or what is there that is not easy? Listen, for instance, to the prophet, and then you will know how easy they are: “Even if you bow your neck like a collar and spread sackcloth and ashes beneath you, not even so will you call it an acceptable fast. But loose every bond of injustice; untie the twisted knots of oppressive bargains.” [u]

See the prophet’s wisdom. He first names everything that was burdensome and sets it aside, and then he urges them to win salvation by duties that are easy, showing that what God needs is not hard labor but obedience.

Then, to make it plain that virtue is easy and vice heavy and galling, he proves it by the bare names alone. Vice, he says, is a “bond” and a “twisted knot,” but virtue is a loosing and a release from all these.

“Tear up every unjust contract.” By this he means the written bonds people hold for the interest owed them and for the sums they have lent.

“Set free those who are crushed” — that is, those who are afflicted. For that is what a debtor is: when he sees his creditor, his mind is crushed, and he fears him more than a wild beast.

“Bring the poor who have been thrown out into your house; if you see someone naked, clothe him; and do not overlook those of your own seed.” In the sermon we gave you not long ago, when we spoke about the rewards, we showed you the wealth that comes from these acts. Now let us see whether any of these commands is hard and beyond our nature. No, we will find nothing of the kind, but quite the opposite: these courses are very easy, while the courses of vice are full of toil. For what is more wearing than lending money and worrying about interest and contracts, demanding guarantors, and fearing and trembling over the pledges, over the principal, over the written bonds, over the interest, over the men who stood surety?

For that is the nature of the things of this world. Nothing is so unsound and so open to suspicion as the thing that is counted as security and was invented to provide it. But to show mercy is easy, and it sets you free from all anxiety. So let us not do business in other people’s misfortunes, or make a trade of our kindness.

I know, of course, that many of you hear these words with displeasure. But what good is silence? Even if I held my peace and gave you no trouble with my words, I could not by that silence rescue you from your punishment. It has just the opposite result: the penalty grows heavier, and such silence brings punishment not on you only but on me as well. What use, then, are pleasing words, when in deeds they do not help us but do us harm instead? What good is it to delight people with words while we hurt them in fact, bringing pleasure to the ears and punishment to the soul? That is why I must make you sorry here, so that we will not suffer punishment there.

For a dreadful disease, beloved, a dreadful one that needs much care, has fallen on the church. Those who are commanded not to store up treasure even from honest labor, but to open their houses to the needy, are making a profit out of other people’s poverty. They have devised a robbery with a fair face, a greed that looks respectable. [x]

Do not tell me about the laws outside. Even the tax collector keeps the law outside, and he is punished all the same. So it will be with us too, unless we stop oppressing the poor and stop using their need and hard necessity as an occasion for shameless dealing. This is what you have wealth for: to relieve poverty, not to make a gain out of poverty. But you, while you look as though you are relieving it, make the misfortune greater, and you sell kindness for money.

Sell it — I do not forbid you — but sell it for the kingdom of heaven. Do not take a small price for so good a deed, your one percent a month, but take that life that never dies. Why are you so beggarly and poor and mean, selling your great things for a little, for goods that perish, when you ought to sell them for an everlasting kingdom? Why do you leave God and go after human gains? Why do you pass by the one who is rich and pester the one who has nothing? Why leave the paymaster who never fails and strike your bargain with the ungrateful? The one longs to repay; the other begrudges it even while he is repaying. This one barely repays a hundredth part; the other repays “a hundredfold, and eternal life.” This one repays with insults and abuse; the other with praise and words of blessing. This one stirs up envy against you; the other even weaves crowns for you. This one repays barely, and only here; the other, both there and here.

Surely, then, it is the height of folly not even to know how to make a gain! How many have lost their very principal for the sake of the interest? How many have fallen into danger for the gains of moneylending? How many have brought both themselves and others into utter poverty through their greed beyond words!

Do not tell me that the borrower is glad to take the loan and thanks you for it. That comes from your own cruelty. Abraham too, scheming how his plan might succeed with the barbarians, himself handed his wife over to them — not willingly, though, but out of fear of Pharaoh. In the same way the poor man, because you do not think him worth even that much money, is actually forced to thank you for your cruelty.

It seems to me that if you rescued him from danger, you would charge him a fee for the rescue. “Away with the thought! Never!” he says. What are you saying? When you rescue him from the greater evil, you are unwilling to take money, and over the lesser one you show such inhumanity?

Do you not see how great a punishment is laid down for this deed? Do you not hear that even under the old law it is forbidden? But what is the excuse most people give? One man tells me: “When I have received the interest, I give it to the poor.” Speak with reverence, man. God does not want sacrifices like these. Do not play clever tricks with the law. It is better not to give to a poor man at all than to give from that source. For the money gathered by honest labor you often make unlawful because of that wicked increase, as though someone were to force a healthy womb to give birth to scorpions.

And why do I speak of God’s law? Do you not call it “filth” yourselves? Well, if you who make the gains give your verdict like that, think what verdict God will pass on you.

And if you ask the pagan lawgivers too, you will be told that even among them this is counted proof of the most utter shamelessness. For example, those who hold offices of honor and belong to the great council they call the senate are not permitted by law to disgrace themselves with such gains; there is a law among them that forbids it. How, then, is it not a horrible thing if you do not give even as much honor to heaven’s way of life as the lawgivers give to the council of the Romans? If heaven is to get less than earth, and you are not ashamed even at the sheer folly of the thing? For what could be more foolish than this? It is as though someone with no land, no rain and no plow insisted on sowing. So those who have invented this evil kind of farming reap weeds, to be committed to the fire.

Why, are there not many honest trades? In the fields, the flocks, the herds, the breeding of livestock, in crafts, in managing property? Why rave and run mad, growing thorns to no purpose? What if the fruits of the earth are exposed to mishaps — hail, blight, too much rain? Still, they are not exposed to them as much as dealings in money are. For whenever something of that sort happens, the damage touches only the crop, and the principal — I mean the land — remains. But here many have often been shipwrecked in their very principal, and even before the loss they live in constant gloom. For the moneylender never enjoys what he has or finds any pleasure in it. When the interest is brought in, he does not rejoice that he has received a gain, but grieves that the interest has not yet grown as large as the principal. And before this evil offspring has been born complete, he forces it too to give birth, turning the interest into principal and making it bring forth its untimely, stillborn brood of vipers. That is the nature of the gains of moneylending: they devour and tear the souls of the wretched more than those wild creatures do. This “is the bond of injustice”; this is “the twisted knot of oppressive bargains.”

Yes, “I give,” he seems to say, “not so that you may receive, but so that you may pay back more.” God commands us not even to take back what we have given — “Give,” he says, “to those from whom you do not expect to receive” — but you demand even more than you gave, and what you never gave, you force the borrower to pay as a debt.

And you suppose your wealth is increased by this, but instead of wealth you are kindling the fire that cannot be put out.

So, that this may not happen, let us cut out the evil womb of the gains of moneylending, let us deaden these lawless labor pains, let us dry up this breeding ground of ruin, and let us pursue only the true and great gains. “But what are these?” Hear Paul saying, “Godliness with contentment is great gain.”

So let us be rich in this wealth alone, so that we may both enjoy security here and attain the good things to come, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and power, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.