Homily 58 — Matthew 17, verse 22, to 18, verse 6

“While they were staying in Galilee, Jesus said to them, ‘The Son of Man is going to be betrayed into the hands of men, and they will kill him, and on the third day he will be raised again.’ And they were exceedingly sorry.” [a]

That is, to stop them from saying, “Why do we stay here all the time?” he speaks to them about his suffering again; and when they heard it, they had no wish even to see Jerusalem. And it is remarkable. Peter had been rebuked; Moses and Elijah had talked about it and called the thing glory; the Father had spoken with a voice from above; so many miracles had been done; and the resurrection was at the door, for he said he would by no means stay long in death, but would be raised on the third day. Yet even so they could not bear it, but were sorry — and not merely sorry, but exceedingly sorry.

This came from their not yet understanding the force of his words. Mark and Luke hint at it, the one saying, “They did not understand the saying, and were afraid to ask him,” and the other, “It was hidden from them, so that they did not perceive it, and they were afraid to ask him about that saying.” And yet if they did not understand, how were they sorry? Because they were not completely in the dark. That he was to die they knew, since they heard it constantly. But what this death might be, and that there would be a speedy release from it, and that it would bring about countless blessings, they did not yet clearly know, nor what this resurrection might be. They did not understand it, and so they grieved; for they clung very earnestly to their Teacher.

“When they had come to Capernaum, those who collected the didrachma came to Peter and said, ‘Does your Teacher not pay the didrachma?’”

And what is this didrachma? When God had struck down the firstborn of the Egyptians, he took the tribe of Levi in their place. Afterward, because the tribe was fewer in number than the firstborn among the Jews, he commanded that a shekel be paid for those who were missing, to make up the number. And from this a custom came into force, that the firstborn should pay this tax.

So, since Christ was a firstborn son, and Peter seemed to be first among the disciples, it is to Peter that they come. It was their practice, I suppose, to collect it in every city, and that is why they approached him in his hometown, for Capernaum was regarded as his hometown.

They did not dare approach Jesus himself, but Peter — and not even him with much force, but rather gently. They spoke not as finding fault but as asking, “Does your Teacher not pay the didrachma?” For they did not yet hold the right opinion about him; they thought of him as they would of a man. Yet they paid him some respect and honor because of the signs he had already done.

What, then, does Peter say? “He said, ‘Yes.’” To them he said that his Teacher pays, but to Jesus he did not mention it, perhaps because he was embarrassed to speak to him about such things. So that gentle one, knowing everything as he did, got there first, “saying, ‘What do you think, Simon? From whom do the kings of the earth take toll or tax? From their own sons, or from strangers?’” And when Peter said, “From strangers,” he replied, “Then the sons are free.” [e]

He gets there first so that Peter would not suppose he was speaking this way only because the others had told him. In part he shows that he knows what had been said; in part he gives Peter freedom to speak, hesitant as he was to be the first to raise these things. What he says amounts to this: “I am indeed free from paying tax. For if the kings of the earth do not take it from their sons, but from their subjects, much more ought I to be free from this demand — I who am the Son, not of an earthly king, but of the King of heaven, and a King myself.”

Do you see how he has set the sons apart from those who are not sons? And if he were not a Son, it would be pointless for him to bring in the example of the kings as well. Someone may say, “Yes, he is a Son, but not a true-born Son.” Then he is not a Son. And if he is not a Son, and not true-born, then he does not belong to God either, but to someone else. But if he belongs to someone else, then the comparison does not have its proper force either. For he is speaking not of sons in general, but of genuine sons, a man’s very own, those who share the kingdom with their parents.

That is also why, by way of contrast, he mentioned “strangers,” meaning by “strangers” those not born of the kings, and by “their own” those whom they have fathered themselves.

I want you to notice this as well: how he confirms here once again the high teaching that had been revealed to Peter. And he did not stop even there, but declares this same truth by the very way he stoops down to meet them — a mark of surpassing wisdom.

For after saying this, he says, “But so that we do not give them offense, go to the sea and cast a hook, and take the fish that comes up first, and you will find a coin in it. Take that, and give it to them for me and for you.”

See how he neither refuses the tax nor simply orders it to be paid, but first proves that he is not liable to it, and only then pays it: the one so as to keep the people, the other so as to keep those around him, from taking offense. For he does not pay it at all as a debt, but as doing what is best for their weakness. Elsewhere, however, he pays no attention to offense, when he was speaking about foods, teaching us to know at what times we ought to consider those who take offense, and at what times to disregard them.

And by the very way he pays it, he reveals himself again. Why does he not tell Peter to pay it out of what they had put by? So that, as I have said, here too he might show himself to be God of all, and show that the sea also is under his rule. He had shown this already, when he rebuked it, and when he commanded this same Peter to walk on the waves. But now he shows the same thing again, in a different way, yet so as to cause great amazement. For it was no small thing to foretell that the first fish to come Peter’s way out of those depths would be the one to pay the tax, and to cast his command like a net into that abyss and bring up the one carrying the coin. It belonged to a divine power beyond words to make even the sea bring gifts in this way, and to show on every side that it was subject to him: when in its fury it fell silent; when, fierce as it was, it received its fellow servant; and now again, when it makes payment on his behalf to those who are demanding it.

“And give it to them,” he says, “for me and for you.” Do you see the surpassing greatness of the honor? See also the restraint of Peter’s mind. Mark, the follower of this apostle, does not seem to have set this point down, because it showed the great honor paid to Peter. While he wrote about the denial just as the others did, the things that make Peter illustrious he has passed over in silence — his teacher perhaps begging him not to mention the great things about himself. And Christ used the phrase “for me and for you” because Peter too was a firstborn son. Now, as you are amazed at Christ’s power, I also bid you admire the disciple’s faith, that he listened to a thing so far beyond possibility. And it truly was very far beyond what nature makes possible. That is why, as a reward for his faith, Christ joined Peter to himself in paying the tax.

“At that hour the disciples came to Jesus, saying, ‘Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?’” [k]

The disciples felt something of human weakness, and that is why the evangelist also adds the note “at that hour” — when he had honored Peter above them all. For of James and John as well, one was a firstborn son, yet he had done nothing like this for them.

Then, being ashamed to admit their feeling, they do not say openly, “Why have you put Peter ahead of us?” or, “Is he greater than we are?” — they were ashamed — but they ask in general terms, “Who, then, is greater?” When they saw the three singled out, they felt nothing of the kind; but now that the honor had come around to one, they were vexed. And not for this reason only: there were many other things that they put together to kindle that feeling. To him he had said, “I will give you the keys”; to him, “Blessed are you, Simon Bar-Jonah”; to him, here, “Give it to them for me and for you.” And seeing, in general, how freely Peter was allowed to speak, they were somewhat fretted by it.

If Mark says that they did not ask, but reasoned among themselves, that does not contradict this. It is likely that they did both. On another occasion before this they had had this feeling, once and twice; and now they both declared it and reasoned among themselves.

But to you I say: do not look only at the charge against them. Consider this too: first, that they are not seeking any of the things of this world; next, that they afterward laid aside even this passion, and give up the first place to one another. But we cannot reach even to their faults. We do not ask, “Who is greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” but who is greatest in the earthly kingdom, who is wealthiest, who is most powerful.

What, then, does Christ say? He lays bare their conscience, and answers their feeling, not merely their words. “He called a little child to him,” Scripture says, “and said, ‘Unless you turn and become like this little child, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.’” “You ask who is greatest,” he says, “and you quarrel over the first honors. But I declare that whoever has not become the lowest of all is not worthy even to enter there.”

And he does well to bring forward that example — and not only to bring it forward, but to set the child in the middle of them, shaming them by the very sight, and persuading them to be lowly and guileless in the same way. For the little child is clean of envy, of empty glory, and of longing for the first place; and he has the greatest of virtues: simplicity, and everything guileless and lowly.

So it is not courage alone that is needed, nor wisdom, but this virtue too — humility, I mean, and simplicity. Yes, the things that belong to our salvation go lame in the most important point of all if these are not with us. The little child, whether it is insulted and beaten, or honored and praised, is neither stirred to resentment or envy by the one, nor lifted up by the other.

Do you see how again he calls us on to excellences that belong to our nature, showing that by free choice it is possible to reach them, and so silences the wicked madness of the Manichaeans? For if nature is an evil thing, why does he draw from it his patterns of strict virtue?

And suppose the child he set among them to have been very young indeed, free of all these passions. For such a little child is free from pride and the mad desire for glory, from envy and quarrelsomeness and all such passions; and though it has many virtues — simplicity, humility, unworldliness — it prides itself on none of them. That is a double strictness of virtue: to have these things, and not to be puffed up about them.

That is why he brought the child forward and set it in the middle. And he did not end his teaching with this, but carries the warning further, saying, “And whoever receives such a little child in my name receives me.”

“Know this,” he says: “not only will you receive a great reward if you yourselves become like this, but also, if for my sake you honor others who are like this, then for the honor you show them I appoint you a kingdom as your recompense.” Or rather, he puts down something far greater, saying, “receives me.” “So very dear to me is everything lowly and guileless.” By “a little child” here he means people who are simple and lowly in this way, and looked down on and despised in the judgment of the common crowd.

After this, to win still more acceptance for his saying, he establishes it not by honor only, but also by punishment, going on to say, “And whoever causes one of these little ones to stumble, it would be better for him to have a millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea.” [n]

“For just as those who honor these for my sake have heaven,” he says, “or rather an honor greater than the kingdom itself, so too those who dishonor them — for that is what it is to make them stumble — will suffer the utmost punishment.” And do not be surprised that he calls the insult “causing to stumble.” Many weak-minded people have been made to stumble in no ordinary way by being slighted and insulted. So, to heighten the blame and make it heavier, he names the harm that comes from it.

He does not go on to describe the punishment in the same terms, but shows how unbearable it is from things familiar to us. When he wants to strike the coarser sort most sharply, he brings in images the senses can grasp. So here too, meaning to show the greatness of the punishment they will undergo, and to strike at the arrogance of those who despise these little ones, he brought forward a kind of punishment the senses can grasp: the millstone and the drowning. Yet surely it would have fit what went before to say, “Whoever does not receive one of these little ones does not receive me” — a thing bitterer than any punishment. But since the utterly unfeeling and very coarse were not much pierced by this, terrible though it is, he puts “a millstone” and “a drowning.” And he did not say, “A millstone will be hung around his neck,” but, “It would be better for him” to undergo this, implying that another evil, more grievous than this, awaits him; and if this is unbearable, that is much more so.

Do you see how he made his threat terrible in both respects? First, by comparing it with a familiar image, he made it more distinct; then, by the excess on the other side, he set it before the imagination as far greater than the visible one. Do you see how he pulls up the spirit of arrogance by the root, how he heals the sore of empty glory, how he teaches us not to set our hearts on the first honors in anything, how he persuades those who covet them to seek the lowest place in everything?

For nothing is worse than arrogance. It even robs people of their natural good sense and gives them the look of fools — or rather, it really makes them exactly like people out of their minds. [o]

Suppose someone about four and a half feet tall were to try to be higher than the mountains, or actually thought he was, and drew himself up as if he rose above their peaks: we would look for no other proof that he was out of his mind. So too, when you see a man who is arrogant, who thinks himself above everyone and counts it a disgrace to live alongside other people, do not look for any further proof of that man’s madness. Why, he is far more ridiculous than anyone born simple, since he creates this disease of his on purpose. And he is wretched not in this only, but because, without feeling it, he falls into the very pit of wickedness.

For when will such a man come to a proper knowledge of any sin? When will he realize that he is doing wrong? No, he is rather like a worthless captured slave, whom the devil has caught and carries off, making him his prey entirely, beating him on every side and surrounding him with countless insults.

The devil leads them in the end into such great folly that he gets them to be haughty toward their children, their wives, and their own forefathers. And others, on the other hand, he makes puffed up by the distinction of their ancestors. What could be more foolish than this, when people are puffed up alike from opposite causes — one sort because they had lowly people for fathers, grandfathers and ancestors, the other because theirs were glorious and distinguished? How, then, can one bring down the swelling sore in each case? By saying to the second sort, “Go back further than your grandfather and your immediate ancestors, and you will perhaps find many cooks, donkey drivers and shopkeepers”; and to the first sort, who are puffed up by the lowliness of their forefathers, the opposite: “And you, too, if you go further up among your forefathers, will find many far more illustrious than you are.”

That nature does run this course, come, let me prove to you even from the Scriptures. Solomon was the son of a king, and of an illustrious king; but that king’s father was one of the lowly and obscure. So was his grandfather on his mother’s side, for otherwise he would not have given his daughter to a mere soldier. And if you were to go up higher again from these lowly people, you would see the family more illustrious and royal. So it is in Saul’s case too, and in many others one will come to the same result.

Let us not, then, pride ourselves on this. For what is noble birth? Tell me. Nothing but a name, without substance; and you will know this on that day. But since that day has not yet come, let us persuade you even from present things that no superiority comes from it. Should war overtake us, or famine, or anything else, all these inflated notions of noble birth are put to the test. Should disease or plague come upon us, it does not know how to tell the rich from the poor, the glorious from the obscure, the well-born from the one who is not; nor does death, nor the other turns of fortune. They all rise up against everyone alike — and, if I may say something even surprising, against the rich more than the other. For the less practiced the rich are in these things, the more surely they are ruined when overtaken by them. And fear, too, is greater among the rich. No one trembles before rulers as they do; and before the crowds no less than before rulers — rather, much more. In fact, many such houses have been overthrown alike by the anger of crowds and the threats of rulers. But the poor man is free from both these kinds of stormy water.

So leave this nobility alone. If you want to show me that you are noble, show the freedom of your soul, such as that blessed man had — and a poor man at that — who said to Herod, “It is not lawful for you to have your brother Philip’s wife”; such as the one had who was like him before him, and will be so again after him, who said to Ahab, “It is not I who trouble Israel, but you and your father’s house”; such as the prophets had, such as all the apostles had. [r]

But the souls of those who are slaves to wealth are not like this. Like people under countless guardians and taskmasters, these do not dare even to lift up their eyes and speak boldly on behalf of virtue. The love of riches, and of glory, and of other things, glaring at them terribly, makes them slavish flatterers. For nothing takes away freedom as much as entanglement in worldly affairs, and wearing what are counted marks of distinction. Such a man has not one master, nor two, nor three, but countless.

And if you would like even to count them, let us bring in one of those who are held in honor at the courts of kings. Let him have very great wealth and great power, a birthplace better than other men’s, and distinguished ancestors, and let him be looked up to by everyone. Now let us see whether this is not the very man who is more enslaved than anyone. And let us set beside him not merely a slave, but a slave’s slave — for many who are themselves servants have slaves. Well, this slave’s slave has only one master. And what if that one is not a free man? Still, he is only one, and the slave looks only to his pleasure. For although his master’s master may seem to have power over him, for the present he obeys only one; and if things are well between the two of them, he will live in security all his life. But our man has not one or two masters, but many, and harsher ones. First of all, he is anxious about the sovereign himself. And it is not the same to have a lowly person for a master as to have a king, into whose ears many are buzzing, and who belongs now to this faction and now to that.

Our man, though he has nothing on his conscience, suspects everyone: his colleagues and those under him, his friends and his enemies.

“But the other man, too,” you may say, “fears his master.” But how is it the same thing, when it comes to making a man fearful, to have one master or many? Or rather, if one looks into it carefully, he will not find even one. How so, and in what sense? That slave has no one who wants to push him out of that service of his and put himself in his place, and so he has no one plotting against him in it. But these men have no other pursuit than to unseat whoever is better approved and better loved by their ruler. That is why he has to flatter everyone: his superiors, his equals, his friends. For where there is envy and love of glory, even sincere friendship has no strength. Just as people of the same trade cannot love one another with a perfect and genuine love, so it is with rivals for honor too, and with those who long for the same worldly things. That is why the war within is great.

Do you see what a swarm of masters, and harsh masters? Do you want me to show you yet another, harsher than these? All those behind him strive to get ahead of him; all those ahead of him strive to keep him from coming nearer and passing them.

But how remarkable! I undertook to show you masters, but our discourse, pressing on and warming to its work, has done more than I undertook, pointing out enemies instead of masters — or rather, the same people as both enemies and masters. For while they are courted like masters, they are feared like enemies, and they plot against us as enemies do. When someone has the same people for both masters and enemies, what disaster could be worse than this? The slave, although he is under orders, nevertheless enjoys the care and goodwill of those who give him orders. But these men, while they take orders, are made enemies and set against one another — and far more bitterly than men in battle, because they wound in secret, and under the mask of friends they treat people as their enemies would, and often make credit for themselves out of other people’s disasters. [s]

Our situation is not like this. Rather, if another fares badly, there are many to grieve with him; if he wins distinction, many to share his pleasure. The apostle, again, is not like them: “For if one member suffers,” he says, “all the members suffer with it; or if one member is honored, all the members rejoice with it.” And the words of the man who gives these admonitions are, at one time, “What is my hope or joy? Is it not even you?” at another, “Now we live, if you stand fast in the Lord”; at another, “Out of much affliction and anguish of heart I wrote to you”; and, “Who is weak, and I am not weak? Who is made to stumble, and I do not burn?”

Why, then, do we still put up with the storm and the waves of the world outside, and not run to this calm harbor, leaving behind the names of good things and going on to the things themselves? For glory, and rank, and wealth, and reputation, and all such things are names among them, but realities among us; just as the painful things — death and disgrace and poverty, and everything like them — are names among us, but realities among them.

If you like, let us first bring forward glory, so lovely and desirable to them all. I am not speaking of how short-lived it is and how soon it is snuffed out; show it to me when it is in full bloom. Do not wipe off the prostitute’s paint and the colored lines, but bring her forward all decked out and show her to us, so that I can then expose her ugliness. Well then, of course you will tell of her finery: her many lictors, and the herald’s voice, and all classes listening, and the silence kept by the populace, and the blows given to anyone who gets in the way, and everyone gazing. Are these not her splendors? Come, then, let us examine whether these things are not empty, a mere idle fancy. For how is the man we are speaking of any better for these things, either in body or in soul? For these are what make up the man. Will he be taller because of them, or stronger, or healthier, or swifter? Will his senses be keener and sharper? No one could say so. Let us go on, then, to the soul, in case we might find some advantage there coming from all this. What then? Will such a man be more self-controlled, gentler, wiser through that kind of escort? Not at all, but quite the opposite. For the result here is not as it is with the body. There the body gains nothing toward its proper excellence; but here the harm is not only that the soul reaps no good fruit, but also that it actually receives much evil from these things, swept along as it is by such means into haughtiness, empty glory, folly, anger, and countless faults like them.

“But he enjoys these things,” you will say, “and delights in them, and they brighten him up.” That word of yours holds the crowning point of his evils, and the incurable part of the disease. For the man who enjoys these things would not be willing to be freed easily from what is the source of his evils; he has blocked his own road to healing by this delight. So the greatest harm of all lies here: he is not even pained, but rather enjoys it, while the diseases are growing on him.

For enjoying something is not always good. Thieves enjoy stealing, an adulterer enjoys defiling his neighbor’s marriage bed, the greedy man enjoys plundering, and the murderer killing. So let us not look at whether he enjoys it, but whether it is for something profitable, in case we find his joy is like that of the adulterer and the thief.

For why, tell me, does he enjoy it? For his standing with the crowd, because he can puff himself up and be gazed at? What could be worse than this desire, and this misplaced fondness? Or if it is no bad thing, you must stop ridiculing people hungry for empty glory and pelting them with constant mockery; you must stop calling down curses on the haughty and the scornful. But you would not stand for that. Well then, these men too deserve plenty of blame, even though they have plenty of lictors. And all this I have said of the more tolerable kind of rulers. For we will find that most of them do worse wrong than robbers, or murderers, or adulterers, or grave robbers, because they do not make good use of their power. Their thefts are more shameless, their butcheries more hardened, their impurities far more monstrous than those of the others; and they dig through not one wall, but estates and houses without number, since their office makes it very easy for them.

And they serve a most grievous slavery, stooping basely under their passions and trembling before all their accomplices. For he alone is free, he alone a ruler, more kingly than all kings, who is set free from his passions.

Knowing these things, then, let us pursue the true freedom and free ourselves from the evil slavery. Let us count neither the pomp of power, nor the rule of wealth, nor any other such thing blessed, but virtue only. For so we will both live in 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 might, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, forever and ever. Amen.