Homily 57 — Matthew 17, verses 10 to 21

“And his disciples asked him, saying, ‘Why then do the scribes say that Elijah must come first?’” [a]

It was not from the Scriptures, then, that they knew this. The scribes used to explain it themselves, and the saying had spread among the uneducated people, just as the saying about the Christ had.

That is why the Samaritan woman too said, “The Messiah is coming; when he comes, he will tell us everything.” And they themselves asked John, “Are you Elijah, or the Prophet?” For the saying, as I said, was current — both the one about the Christ and the one about Elijah — but they did not interpret it rightly.

For the Scriptures speak of two comings of Christ: the one that is past, and the one that is still to come. Paul declared both when he said, “The grace of God that brings salvation has appeared, teaching us that, denying ungodliness and worldly cravings, we should live with self-control, righteously, and in a godly way.” There you have the one. Now hear how he declares the other as well; for after saying these things he added, “looking for the blessed hope and the appearing of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ.” The prophets too mention both, but of one of them — the second — they say that Elijah will be its forerunner. For John was the forerunner of the first. Christ even called him Elijah — not because he was Elijah, but because he was carrying out that prophet’s ministry. For as the one will be the forerunner of the second coming, so the other was the forerunner of the first.

But the scribes confused these things and led the people astray. They spoke to the people only of the other coming, the second, and said, “If this man is the Christ, Elijah ought to have come first.” That is why the disciples too speak this way: “How is it, then, that the scribes say Elijah must come first?” That is also why the Pharisees sent to John and asked him, “Are you Elijah?” — never once mentioning the first coming.

What, then, is the answer Christ gave? “Elijah is indeed coming then, before my second coming; and now too Elijah has come.” In saying this he means John. In this sense Elijah has come; but if you are looking for the Tishbite, he is still to come. That is why he said, “Elijah is indeed coming, and will restore all things.” What things? The things the prophet Malachi spoke of. For he says, “I will send you Elijah the Tishbite, who will restore the heart of the father to the son, lest I come and strike the earth utterly.”

Do you see how precise the language of prophecy is? Christ called John Elijah because their office was the same. So that you would not suppose the prophet meant that here too, he added Elijah’s home as well, saying, “the Tishbite” — and John was not from Tishbe. With this he sets down another sign too, saying, “lest I come and strike the earth utterly,” pointing to his second and dreadful coming. For in the first he did not come to strike the earth: “I did not come,” he says, “to judge the world, but to save the world.”

So he said this to show that the Tishbite comes before that other coming, the one that brings the judgment. And he teaches the reason for his coming as well. What is the reason? That when he has come he may persuade the Jews to believe in Christ, so that they do not all perish utterly at his coming. That is why Christ too, leading them on to remember this, says, “And he will restore all things” — that is, he will correct the unbelief of the Jews who are alive at that time.

That is why the prophet’s expression is so exact. He did not say, “He will restore the heart of the son to the father,” but “of the father to the son.” Since the Jews were the fathers of the apostles, his meaning is that he will restore the hearts of the fathers — that is, the mind of the Jewish people — to the teachings of their sons, that is, of the apostles.

“But I say to you that Elijah has already come, and they did not recognize him, but did to him whatever they wished. So also the Son of Man is going to suffer at their hands. Then they understood that he was speaking to them about John.” And yet neither the scribes had said this, nor the Scriptures. But since they were now sharper and paid closer attention to his sayings, they quickly caught his meaning.

And how did the disciples know this? He had already told them, “He is Elijah, who was to come.” But here he says that he has come; and again, that “Elijah is coming and will restore all things.” Do not be troubled, and do not imagine that his statement wavers because at one time he said, “he will come,” and at another, “he has come.” All these things are true. When he says, “Elijah is indeed coming, and will restore all things,” he means Elijah himself, and the conversion of the Jews that is to take place then. But when he says, “who was to come,” he calls John Elijah because of the way he carried out his task. In just this way the prophets used to call every one of the kings they approved “David,” and called the Jews “rulers of Sodom” and “sons of Ethiopians,” because of their ways. For as the one will be the forerunner of the second coming, so this one was the forerunner of the first.

And it is not for this reason only that he calls him Elijah everywhere, but also to show his complete agreement with the Old Testament, and that this coming too is in keeping with prophecy. [e]

That is why he adds again, “He came, and they did not recognize him, but did to him whatever they wished.” What does “whatever they wished” mean? They threw him into prison, they treated him with contempt, they killed him, they brought his head on a platter.

“So also the Son of Man is going to suffer at their hands.” Do you see how once again, at the right moment, he reminds them of his suffering, storing up a great deal of comfort for them from what John suffered? And not only in this way, but also by working great miracles straight away. Indeed, whenever he speaks of his suffering, he works miracles at once, both after those sayings and before them. In many places you will find that he kept this rule.

For example, it says, “Then he began to show them that he must go to Jerusalem, and be killed, and suffer many things.” “Then” — when? When he had been confessed to be the Christ and the Son of God.

Again, on the mountain, when he had shown them the marvelous vision and the prophets had been speaking of his glory, he reminded them of his suffering. For after telling the story about John, he added, “So also the Son of Man is going to suffer at their hands.”

And a little later he did it again, when he had cast out the demon that his disciples were not able to cast out. For then too, it says, “While they were staying in Galilee, Jesus said to them, ‘The Son of Man will be betrayed into the hands of sinful men, and they will kill him, and on the third day he will rise again.’”

In doing this, he was easing the excess of their sorrow by the greatness of the miracles and consoling them in every way, just as here too he gave them much consolation by mentioning John’s death.

But suppose someone should say: “Why did he not raise up Elijah even now and send him, when he testifies that his coming does so much good?” We would reply that, even as things were, they thought Christ was Elijah and still did not believe him. For “some say,” the words run, “that you are Elijah, and others Jeremiah.” And indeed there was no difference between John and Elijah except the time.

Someone may ask: “Then how will they believe at that time?” Why, “he will restore all things,” not simply by being recognized, but also because the glory of Christ will have been growing brighter up to that day, and will be clearer to everyone than the sun. So when he comes, with such a reputation and such expectation going before him, making the same proclamation as John and himself announcing Jesus too, they will more easily accept what he says. And in saying, “They did not recognize him,” he is also excusing what was done to himself.

And he consoles them not in this way only, but also by pointing out that John’s sufferings at their hands, whatever they were, were undeserved; and by throwing what would distress them into the shade with two signs, the one on the mountain and the other that was just about to take place. But when they heard these things, they did not ask him when Elijah was coming, hemmed in either by grief at his suffering or by fear. For on many occasions, when they see that he is unwilling to say a thing plainly, they fall silent, and that is the end of it. For instance, when, during their stay in Galilee, he said, “The Son of Man will be betrayed, and they will kill him,” Mark adds, “They did not understand the saying, and were afraid to ask him”; and Luke, “It was hidden from them, so that they did not perceive it, and they were afraid to ask him about that saying.”

“And when they had come to the crowd, a man came to him, kneeling before him and saying, ‘Lord, have mercy on my son, for he is moonstruck and suffers terribly; for he often falls into the fire, and often into the water. And I brought him to your disciples, and they could not cure him.’” [g]

Scripture shows this man to be very weak in faith, and this is clear in many ways: from Christ’s saying, “All things are possible to the one who believes”; from what the man who came to him said himself, “Help my unbelief”; from Christ’s commanding the demon to “enter him no more”; and again from the man’s saying to Christ, “If you can.”

Someone may ask: “But if his unbelief was the reason the demon did not go out, why does he blame the disciples?” To show that in many cases they could work a cure even without people of faith to bring the sick. For just as the faith of the one presenting the sick person was often enough to obtain the cure, even from lesser ministers, so the power of those who did the work was often enough, even when those who came to have the miracle done did not believe.

Both these things are shown in Scripture. Those in Cornelius’s household drew the grace of the Spirit to themselves by their faith; and again, in the case of Elisha, a dead man rose when no one had believed. As for those who threw the body down, they did not throw it in out of faith but out of cowardice, unintentionally and by chance, for fear of the band of robbers, and so they fled; and the man who was thrown in was dead. Yet by the power of the holy body alone the dead man rose. So it is clear that in this case the disciples too were weak — but not all of them, for the pillars were not there. And see this man’s lack of consideration from another circumstance as well: in front of the crowd he pleads with Jesus against his disciples, saying, “I brought him to your disciples, and they could not cure him.”

But Jesus clears them of the charges before the people and lays the greater part of the blame on him. “O faithless and perverse generation,” he says, “how long will I be with you?” He was not aiming at the man alone, so as not to put him to confusion, but at all the Jews. For many of those present were likely to have taken offense and to have had wrong thoughts about the disciples.

And when he said, “How long will I be with you?” he shows once again that death would be welcome to him and was something he desired, that he longed for his departure, and that it was not crucifixion that was hard to bear, but being with them.

Yet he did not stop at accusations. What does he say? “Bring him here to me.” And he himself asks the man how long the boy had been this way — both to make a defense for his disciples and to lead the man to good hope, so that he might believe he would obtain deliverance from the evil. And he lets the boy be torn, not for display (and in fact, when a crowd began to gather, he went on to rebuke the spirit), but for the father’s own sake: so that, seeing the evil spirit thrown into turmoil at Christ’s mere call, he might be led by that at least, if in no other way, to believe the miracle that was coming.

And because the man had said, “From childhood,” and, “If you can, help me,” Christ says, “All things are possible to the one who believes,” again turning the complaint back against him. When the leper said, “If you are willing, you can make me clean,” bearing witness to his authority, Christ praised him and confirmed his words, saying, “I am willing; be clean.” But in this man’s case, when he said something not at all worthy of his power — “If you can, help me” — see how he corrects it as wrongly spoken. What does he say? “If you can believe, all things are possible to the one who believes.” What he says amounts to this: “Such an abundance of power is with me that I can make even others work these miracles. So if you believe as you should, even you yourself are able to heal both this boy and many others.” And having said this, he set the possessed boy free.

But observe his providential care and his kindness not only from this, but also from that earlier time, during which he allowed the demon to be in the boy. For surely, unless the boy had been shown much care even then, he would have perished long ago. “It threw him,” it says, “both into the fire and into the water.” And the one who dared to do this would certainly have destroyed the boy as well, had not God put his strong curb on him even in so great a madness — as indeed was the case with those naked men who ran about in the deserts and cut themselves with stones.

And if the boy is called “moonstruck,” do not be troubled at all, for it is the father of the possessed boy who uses the word. How, then, does the evangelist too say, “He healed many who were moonstruck”? He names them according to the notion the crowd had. For the evil spirit, to bring a slur on nature, attacks those it seizes and lets them go according to the phases of the moon — not that the moon causes it, away with the thought! — but he does this craftily himself, to bring a slur on nature. And a mistaken opinion has taken hold among simple people, and, deceived, they call such evil spirits by this name; but it is not true at all.

“Then his disciples came to him privately and asked him why they themselves could not cast the demon out.” To me they seem to be anxious and afraid that they might have lost the grace they had been entrusted with, for they had received power over unclean spirits. That is why they ask, coming to him privately. It was not out of shame — for if the thing had become known and they had been shown up, it would have been pointless after that to be ashamed of confessing it in words — but because it was a secret and weighty matter they were about to ask him about. [l]

What, then, does Christ say? “Because of your unbelief,” he says. “For if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move,’ and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you.”

Now if you say: “Where did they ever move a mountain?” I would answer that they did far greater things, raising countless dead. For it is not at all the same thing to move a mountain and to move death out of a body. And some saints after them, far inferior to them, are said actually to have moved mountains when need called for it. From this we see that the apostles too would have done the same, if need had called on them. But if there was no need for it then, do not find fault. Besides, he himself did not say, “You will certainly move it,” but, “You will be able to do even this.” And if they did not do it, it was not because they were unable (how could that be, when they had power to do the greater things?), but because they did not choose to, since there was no need.

It is also likely that this was done and not written down; for we know that not all the miracles they worked were written down. At that time, however, they were still very imperfect by comparison. What, then? Did they not have even this much faith at that time? They did not. For they were not always the same men: even Peter is now called blessed, now rebuked; and the rest too are mocked by him for their foolishness when they did not understand his saying about the yeast. So it was that at that time too the disciples were weak, for before the cross they were still imperfect in mind.

By faith here he means the faith that has to do with miracles; and he mentions a mustard seed to show its power beyond words. For although the mustard seed seems small in size, in power it is the strongest of all things. So to show that even the smallest measure of genuine faith can do great things, he mentioned the mustard seed. And he did not stop there, but added even mountains, and went on beyond that: “For nothing,” he says, “will be impossible for you.”

But marvel here too at their self-denial, and at the might of the Spirit: their self-denial in not hiding their fault, and the might of the Spirit in leading on, little by little, men who did not have so much as a grain of mustard seed, until rivers and fountains of faith sprang up within them.

“But this kind does not go out except by prayer and fasting” — meaning the whole class of evil spirits, not only that of the moonstruck.

Do you see how he now begins to lay in them in advance the foundation of his teaching about fasting? Do not argue with me from rare cases, that some have cast them out even without fasting. For though one might say this in one or two instances of those who rebuke the evil spirits, yet for the sufferer himself it is impossible to be delivered from such madness while living in luxury. Fasting is especially necessary for someone who is sick in that way.

One may say: “And yet, if faith is what is needed, what need is there of fasting?” Because along with our faith, fasting too brings no small power. It instills great strictness, turns a man into an angel, and fights against the bodiless powers. Yet it does not do so by itself: prayer too is needed, and prayer must come first.

See, at any rate, how many blessings spring from the two together. Someone who prays as he should and fasts does not have many wants; someone who does not have many wants cannot be greedy; and someone who is not greedy will also be more inclined to give alms. The one who fasts is light and has wings. He prays with a wakeful mind, puts out his wicked cravings, wins God’s favor, and humbles his soul when it is lifted up. That is why even the apostles were almost always fasting. [o]

The one who prays with fasting has double wings, lighter than the winds themselves. He does not yawn, or stretch, or grow sluggish in prayer, as most people do; he is fiercer than fire and rises above the earth. That is why such a man is above all a hater and an enemy of the evil spirits. For nothing is mightier than a person who prays sincerely. If a woman could prevail over a savage ruler, one who neither feared God nor respected man, how much more will he prevail with God who waits on him continually, keeps his stomach in check, and drives out luxury?

But if your body is too weak to fast continually, still it is not too weak for prayer, nor without the strength to despise the belly. Even if you cannot fast, you can still avoid luxurious living. Even this is no small thing, and not far from fasting; even this is enough to tear down the devil’s madness. For nothing is so welcome to that evil spirit as luxury and drunkenness, since luxury is the fountain and the mother of all our evils. By it, long ago, he drove the Israelites to idolatry; by it he set the people of Sodom burning with lawless desire. For “this,” it says, “was the iniquity of Sodom: in pride, in fullness of bread, and in feasting they ran riot.” By it he has destroyed countless others and handed them over to hell.

For what evil does luxury not work? It makes pigs of human beings, and worse than pigs. The sow wallows in the mud and feeds on filth; but this man lives on fare more loathsome than that, devising forbidden intercourse and lawless desires.

Such a man is no different from one possessed by a demon, for like him he is lost to shame and raves. And yet the possessed man we pity, while this man we turn from with loathing and hatred. Why? Because he brings on himself a madness of his own choosing, and makes his mouth and his eyes and his nostrils — in short, all of himself — into mere sewers.

And if you could see what is within him too, you would see his very soul as if in a winter frost, stiff and numb, and quite unable to help its ship through the violence of the storm.

I am ashamed to say how many ills men and women suffer from luxury; I leave it to their own consciences, which know it all more fully. For what is more disgusting than a drunken woman, or one led astray by wine at all? The weaker the vessel, the more complete the shipwreck, whether she is free or a slave. The free woman disgraces herself with her slaves looking on; the slave, in the same way, among the slaves; and they give foolish people cause to speak blasphemy against God’s gifts.

For instance, when these excesses happen, I hear many say, “I wish there were no wine!” What folly! What madness! When other people sin, do you find fault with God’s gifts? What great madness is this? What? Was it the wine, man, that produced this evil? Not the wine, but the lack of self-control of those who take a wicked pleasure in it. Say, then, “I wish there were no drunkenness, no luxury.” But if you say, “I wish there were no wine,” you will go on little by little to say, “I wish there were no steel, because of murderers; no night, because of thieves; no light, because of informers; no women, because of adulteries.” In a word, you will abolish everything.

But do not do this, for it comes from a satanic mind. Do not find fault with the wine, but with the drunkenness. And when you find this same man sober, sketch out for him all his disgraceful behavior and say to him, “Wine was given so that we might be cheerful, not so that we might disgrace ourselves; so that we might laugh, not so that we might be laughed at; so that we might be healthy, not so that we might be sick; so that we might correct the weakness of our body, not throw down the strength of our soul.”

God honored you with the gift; why disgrace yourself by the excess of it? Listen to what Paul says: “Use a little wine for your stomach’s sake and your frequent illnesses.” But if that saint, even when weighed down by disease and suffering one illness after another, did not touch wine until his teacher allowed him, what excuse will we have, who get drunk in good health? To him he said, “Use a little wine for your stomach’s sake”; but to each of you who are drunk he will say, “Use little wine, because of your sexual immorality, your constant filthy talk, and the other wicked desires that drunkenness usually gives birth to.”

But if you are not willing to abstain for these reasons, then at least abstain because of the gloom and the troubles that come from it. For wine was given for gladness: “Yes, wine,” it says, “makes glad the heart of man.” But you spoil even this good thing in it. For what kind of gladness is it to be out of your mind, to have countless troubles, to see everything spinning around, to be overcome with dizziness, and, like people with a fever, to need someone to drench your head with oil?

I do not say these things to everyone — or rather, I do say them to everyone, not because all are drunk, God forbid, but because those who do not drink take no care for those who are drunk. That is why I inveigh against you who are healthy even more, just as a physician too leaves the sick and addresses what he has to say to those sitting beside them. So I direct my words to you, begging you never to be overtaken by this passion yourselves, and to draw up those who have been overtaken, as if with ropes, so that they are not found worse than the animals. [r]

For the animals seek nothing beyond what is necessary, but these people have become even more beastly than they, overstepping the bounds of moderation. How much better is the donkey than these men! How much better the dog! Each of these animals, and of all the others, whether it needs to eat or to drink, takes having enough as its limit and does not go on beyond its need; and though countless people try to force it, it will not bring itself to go on to excess.

In this respect, then, we are worse even than the animals, by the judgment not only of those who are healthy but even by our own. That you have judged yourselves to be lower than dogs and donkeys is plain from this: you do not force these animals to take food beyond their measure; and if anyone asks, “Why not?” you will answer, “So that I don’t hurt them.” But on yourself you do not spend even this much forethought. So you count yourself cheaper even than they are, and you let yourself be tossed about continually as if by a storm.

For you do not suffer the harm of drunkenness only on the day you are drunk, but after that day as well. As the damage a fever does remains when the fever has passed, so too when drunkenness is past, the disturbance of intoxication goes on whirling round both soul and body. While the wretched body lies paralyzed, like the hull of a ship after a wreck, the soul, more miserable still, stirs up the storm even when this is over, and kindles the craving; and when a man seems to be sober, that is when he is most mad of all, picturing wine and casks, cups and goblets.

And as in a storm, when the raging of the waters has stopped, the loss the storm caused remains, so it is here too. As there we lose our cargo, so here too nearly all our good things are thrown overboard. Whether it is self-control, or modesty, or understanding, or gentleness, or humility that drunkenness finds there, it throws them all out into the sea of wickedness.

But in what follows the likeness ends. For there, when the cargo is thrown out, the ship is lightened; but here it is weighed down all the more. In place of the riches it carried before, it takes on board sand and salt water and all the accumulated filth of drunkenness — enough to sink the ship at once, with the sailors and the helmsman.

So that we may not suffer these things, let us free ourselves from that storm. It is not possible to see the kingdom of heaven with drunkenness. “Do not be deceived,” it says: “no drunkards, no slanderers, will inherit the kingdom of God.” And why do I speak of a kingdom? With drunkenness a man cannot even see the things in front of him. For drunkenness really does turn our days into nights and the light into darkness. Even with their eyes open, drunkards do not see what is right beside them.

And this is not the only frightful thing. Along with these things they also suffer another most grievous punishment, continually undergoing senseless fits of gloom, madness, weakness, ridicule, and disgrace. What excuse is there for those who pierce themselves through with so many evils? There is none.

So let us flee from that plague, so that we may attain both the good things here and those 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, forever and ever. Amen.