Homily 65 — Matthew 20, verses 17 to 28

“As Jesus was going up to Jerusalem, he took the twelve disciples aside on the way and said to them, ‘Look, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be betrayed to the chief priests and to the scribes, and they will condemn him to death, and will hand him over to the Gentiles to mock and to flog and to crucify him; and on the third day he will be raised.’” [a]

He does not go up to Jerusalem as soon as he has come out of Galilee. First he works miracles, and stops the mouths of the Pharisees, and talks with his disciples about giving up possessions — “If you want to be perfect,” he says, “sell what you have” — and about virginity — “Let the one who is able to receive it receive it” — and about humility — “Unless you are turned around and become like little children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven” — and about being repaid in this life — “Whoever has left houses, or brothers, or sisters, will receive a hundred times as much in this world” — and about the rewards there — “And he will also inherit,” it says, “eternal life.” Only then does he move on the city itself, and as he is about to go up, he speaks again of his suffering.

It was likely that they would forget it, because they did not want it to happen. So he keeps reminding them, training their minds by reminding them so often, and lessening their pain. But he speaks with them “aside,” and he had to. It was not fitting that what he said about these things should be spread abroad to the many, nor that it should be said to them plainly, for no good would have come of that. If the disciples were thrown into confusion at hearing these things, how much more the mass of the people!

You may ask: “What then? Was it not told to the people?” It was told to the people too, but not so plainly. For he says, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up”; and, “This generation looks for a sign, and no sign will be given it except the sign of Jonah”; and again, “Yet a little while I am with you, and you will look for me and will not find me.”

But to the disciples he did not speak that way. Just as he told them other things more plainly, so he told them this too. And if the crowd did not understand the force of these sayings, why were they spoken at all? So that afterward they might learn that he went to his suffering knowing it beforehand, and willing it — not in ignorance, and not under compulsion.

And he did not foretell it to the disciples for this reason only, but, as I have said, so that, trained by the expectation, they might bear his suffering more easily, and it might not throw them into confusion by falling on them unprepared. That is why, while at the beginning he spoke only of his death, once they had been practiced and trained to hear of it, he adds the other details as well: for instance, that they would hand him over to the Gentiles, and that they would mock him and flog him. He did this for that reason, and also so that, when they saw the sorrowful events come to pass, they might from this expect the resurrection as well. For one who had not hidden from them what would cause them pain, and what seemed to bring disgrace, would reasonably be believed about the good things too.

But notice, I beg you, how wisely he arranges the timing too. He did not tell them at the beginning, so as not to unsettle them; nor at the very moment, so as not to throw them into confusion by that in turn. He told them when they had received enough proof of his power, and when he had given them very great promises about eternal life. Then he brings in what he had to say about these things as well, once, twice, and often, weaving it in among his miracles and his teaching.

Another evangelist says that he also brought in the prophets as witnesses. And another says that they themselves did not understand his words, but the saying was hidden from them, and that they were amazed as they followed him.

Someone may say: “Surely, then, the benefit of foretelling it is lost. If they did not know what they were hearing, they could not look for the event either; and if they did not look for it, they could not be trained by the expectation.”

But I will raise another point, more puzzling than this one. If they did not know, how were they sorrowful? For another evangelist says they were sorrowful. If, then, they did not know it, how were they sorry? How did Peter say, “Far be it from you; this will not happen to you”?

What, then, are we to say? They knew that he was going to die, even though they did not clearly know the mystery of his becoming man. Nor did they clearly know about the resurrection, or what he was going to accomplish; this was hidden from them. That is also why they felt pain. They knew of some who had been raised again by others; but that anyone should raise himself again, and raise himself in such a way as never to die again, they had never known.

This, then, they did not understand, though it was said often. No, not even about this death itself did they know clearly what it was, and how it would come upon him. That is also why they were amazed as they followed him. But not for this reason only: to me, at least, he seems to amaze them by the very fact that he speaks of his suffering.

Yet none of these things gave them courage, and that though they were continually hearing about his resurrection. For along with his death, what especially troubled them was to hear that men would “mock and flog him,” and the like. When they thought of his miracles — the possessed whom he had set free, the dead whom he had raised, all the other wonderful works he was doing — and then heard these things, they were amazed that the one who does these works should suffer like this. That is why they even fell into perplexity: now they believed, now they disbelieved, and they could not understand what he said. [g]

So far were they from clearly understanding what he said that at that very time the sons of Zebedee came to him and spoke to him about precedence. “We want,” it says, “one of us to sit at your right hand, and one at your left.” How, then, does this evangelist say that their mother came to him? Probably both things happened. I mean that they took their mother with them to make their plea stronger, and in this way to prevail with Christ.

As proof that this is true, as I say — that the request was really theirs, and that they put their mother forward because they were ashamed — notice how Christ directs his words to them.

But first let us learn what they are asking, in what frame of mind, and what moved them to it. What, then, moved them? They saw themselves honored above the rest, and expected from this that they would obtain this request too. But what exactly are they asking? Listen to another evangelist declaring it plainly. It says that they asked these things “because he was near Jerusalem, and because they thought the kingdom of God was going to appear at once.” They supposed it was at the doors, and visible, and that once they had obtained what they asked, they would undergo none of the painful things. For they did not seek it for its own sake only, but as a way of escaping the hardships as well.

That is why Christ first leads them away from these thoughts, telling them to expect slaughter, and dangers, and the worst terrors. For he says, “Are you able to drink the cup that I drink?” But let no one be troubled that the apostles were in so imperfect a state. The cross had not yet been accomplished; the grace of the Spirit had not yet been given. If you want to learn their virtue, look at them after these things, and you will see them above every passion. This is why he reveals their shortcomings: so that afterward you may know what kind of men they became by grace.

It is plain from this, then, that they were asking for nothing spiritual and had no thought of the kingdom above. But let us also see how they come to him, and what they say. “We want you,” it says, “to do for us whatever we ask of you.” And Christ says to them, “What do you want?” — not because he did not know, but to make them answer, and lay open the wound, and so apply the medicine. But they were ashamed and embarrassed, because they had come to do this under the sway of a human passion, and so they took him aside, apart from the disciples, and asked him. For they went ahead, it says, so that it would not be noticed by the others, and so they said what they wanted.

Their desire, as I suppose, was this. Because they had heard, “You will sit on twelve thrones,” they wanted to have the first place among those seats. They knew they had an advantage over the others, but they were afraid of Peter, and they say, “Command that one sit at your right hand and one at your left.” And they press him, saying, “Command.”

What, then, does he say? He shows that they were asking for nothing spiritual, and that if they had known what they were asking, they would not have dared to ask for so much. He says, “You do not know what you are asking” — how great a thing, how wonderful, how far beyond even the powers above. Then he adds, “Are you able to drink the cup that I am about to drink, and to be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?” Do you see how he immediately drew them away from their notion by building what he said on the opposite themes? “You,” he says, “talk to me of honor and crowns, but I talk to you of contests and labors. This is not the season for rewards, and that glory of mine will not appear now. The present time is a time of slaughter, and wars, and dangers.”

And see how, by the form of his question, he both urges them on and draws them. He did not say, “Are you able to be killed? Are you able to pour out your blood?” How, then? “Are you able to drink the cup?” Then, to draw them to it, he says, “which I am about to drink,” so that sharing it with him might make them more ready. And again, he calls it a baptism, showing that the world was to have a great cleansing from the things that were being done.

“They say to him, ‘We are able.’” In their eagerness they took it on at once, not knowing even what they were saying, but hoping to hear that they would get what they had asked.

What, then, does he say? “You will indeed drink my cup, and be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with.” He foretold great blessings for them. What he means is this: you will be counted worthy of martyrdom, and you will suffer the things I suffer; you will end your life by a violent death, and in these things you will share with me. “But to sit at my right hand and at my left is not mine to give, but it will be given to those for whom it has been prepared by my Father.”

First he lifted up their souls, and raised them to a higher character, and made them such that sorrow could not overcome them. Then he corrects their request. [k]

But what can this saying mean? There are two points that many people ask about: first, whether it has been prepared for anyone to sit at his right hand; and then, whether the Lord of all does not have the power to give it to those for whom it has been prepared.

What, then, does the saying mean? If we settle the first point, the second will also become clear to those who ask. What is the answer, then? No one will sit at his right hand or at his left. That throne is out of reach for all — I do not say for human beings only, and saints, and apostles, but even for angels and archangels and all the powers on high.

Paul, at any rate, sets it down as a privilege belonging to the only Son, saying, “To which of the angels has he ever said, ‘Sit at my right hand’? And of the angels he says, ‘Who makes his angels spirits’; but to the Son, ‘Your throne, O God.’”

How, then, does he say, “To sit at my right hand and at my left is not mine to give,” as though there are some who will sit there? Not that there are — far from it. He is answering the thoughts of those asking the favor, stooping down to meet their understanding. They did not know about that lofty throne, and his sitting at the right hand of the Father. How could they, when they did not understand even things much lower than these, which were being instilled into them every day? They were after one thing only: to enjoy the first honors, to stand ahead of the rest, and to have no one stand ahead of them with him. As I have already said, since they had heard of twelve thrones, and did not know what the saying could mean, they asked for the first place.

So what Christ is saying is this: “You will indeed die for me, and be killed for the sake of the good news, and share with me as far as the suffering goes. But this is not enough to secure you the enjoyment of the first seat, and to give you the first place. For if someone else should come who, along with martyrdom, has all the other parts of virtue far more fully than you, I will not set aside the one who is distinguished by his good works and give the first honors to you, just because I love you now and prefer you to the rest.” He did not put it that way, so as not to hurt them. Instead he hints at the very same thing in veiled words, saying, “You will indeed drink my cup, and you will be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with; but to sit at my right hand and at my left, this is not mine to give, but it will be given to those for whom it has been prepared.”

But for whom has it been prepared? For those who could become distinguished by their works. That is why he did not say, “It is not mine to give, but my Father’s,” so that no one would say he was too weak, or lacked the strength to reward them. What did he say, then? “It is not mine, but belongs to those for whom it has been prepared.”

To make what I am saying clearer, let us work it out with an example. Suppose there were a president of the games, and many excellent athletes went down to the contest. And suppose two of the athletes most closely connected with the president of the games came to him and said, “Have us crowned and proclaimed,” relying on their goodwill and friendship with him. And suppose he said to them, “This is not mine to give, but it will be given to those for whom it has been prepared by their labors and their toils.” Would we condemn him as powerless? Not at all. We would approve him for his justice, and for showing no favoritism.

We would not say that he failed to give the crown for lack of strength, but because he did not wish to corrupt the law of the games or upset the order of justice. In the same way I would say that Christ said this now because he wanted, by every means, to compel them to set their hope of salvation and approval, next to the grace of God, on the proof of their own good works.

That is why he says, “for whom it has been prepared.” “What if others should prove better than you?” he says. “What if they should do greater things? Just because you have become my disciples, will you enjoy the first honors, if you yourselves do not prove worthy of the choice?” That he himself has power over the whole is plain from his holding the entire judgment. For he speaks this way to Peter too: “I will give you the keys of the heavens.” And Paul also makes this clear when he says, “From now on the crown of righteousness is laid up for me, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give me on that day; and not to me only, but also to all who have loved his appearing.” And the appearing is Christ’s. And that no one will stand ahead of Paul is surely clear to everyone.

If he has expressed these things somewhat obscurely, do not be surprised. By veiled teaching he wanted to lead them on, so that they would not press him rudely, without purpose or reason, for the first honors — for they felt this out of a human passion. And he did not want to hurt them. By the obscurity he achieves both aims.

“Then the ten were indignant about the two.” Then — when? When he had corrected them. As long as the decision was Christ’s, they were not indignant. When they saw the two preferred, they were content and kept quiet, out of reverence and respect for their Teacher.

And if they were vexed at heart, they still did not dare to say so. When they felt something of human weakness toward Peter, at the time Christ paid the didrachmas, they did not give way to anger, but only asked, “Who, then, is greatest?” But since here the request was the disciples’ own, they are indignant. And not even here are they indignant at once, when the two asked, but only when Christ had corrected them and said that they would not enjoy the first honors unless they showed themselves worthy of them.

Do you see how they were all in an imperfect state, when these two were lifting themselves above the ten, and the ten were envying the two? But, as I said, show me them after these things, and you will see them free of all these passions. Listen, at least, to how this same John — the one who now came to him for these things — everywhere yields the first place to Peter in the Acts of the Apostles, both in speaking to the people and in working miracles. [p]

And he does not hide Peter’s good deeds. He relates both the confession Peter made openly when all the rest were silent, and his going into the tomb, and he puts the apostle ahead of himself. And since both of them stayed with him at the time of his crucifixion, he takes away the ground for praising himself and says, “That disciple was known to the high priest.”

James did not live long. From the beginning he was so filled with fervor, and so left behind all human things, and rose to so indescribable a height, that he was killed at once. So in every respect, after these things, they became excellent.

But at that time “they were indignant.” What, then, does Christ say? “He called them to him and said, ‘The rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them.’” Because they were disturbed and troubled, he calms them by calling them before he speaks, and by drawing them near him. For the two had separated themselves from the company of the ten and stood nearer him, pleading their own interests. So by this very act he brings the others near him too; and by bringing the matter into the open before the rest, he calms the passion of both sides.

And he does not check them now as he did before. Before, he brought little children into the middle and told them to imitate their simplicity and lowliness. Here he corrects them more sharply, from the opposite side, saying, “The rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones exercise authority over them. But it will not be so among you. Whoever wants to be great among you, let him be the servant of all; and whoever wants to be first, let him be last of all.” He shows that a feeling like this — I mean, loving the first place — belongs to pagans.

For this passion is a tyrant, and keeps tripping up even great men; that is why it needs a harsher blow. So he too strikes deeper into them, shaming their inflamed souls by comparing them with the Gentiles, and he removes the envy of the one side and the arrogance of the other, all but saying: “Do not be indignant, as though you had been insulted. Those who seek the first places this way harm and disgrace themselves most, for they are among the last. Things are not with us as they are with outsiders. ‘The rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them,’ but with me, the one who is last, he is first.

“And to prove that I do not say these things without reason, take the proof of my words from what I do and suffer. I myself have done something even greater. Though I am King of the powers above, I was willing to become man, and I submitted to being despised and mistreated. And I was not satisfied even with these things, but came even to death. Therefore,” he says, “just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” “For I did not stop even at this,” he says, “but I gave even my life as a ransom — and for whom? For enemies. But you, if you are brought low, it is for your own sake; I was brought low for yours.”

So do not be afraid, as though your honor were being pulled down. However much you humble yourself, you cannot go down as far as your Lord. And yet his going down has become the going up of all, and has made his own glory shine out. Before he became man, he was known among the angels only; but after he became man and was crucified, far from lessening that glory, he gained more besides — the glory that comes from the knowledge of the world.

So do not be afraid, as though your honor were being brought down if you humble yourself. This is how your glory is raised higher; this is how it becomes greater. This is the door of the kingdom. Let us not go the opposite way, then, or make war on ourselves. For if we want to seem great, we will not be great, but the most dishonored of all.

Do you see how everywhere he urges them on by the opposite things, giving them what they desire? We have shown this in many instances in the earlier passages as well: he did the same in the cases of the greedy and of those who seek empty glory. “Why do you give alms before people?” he says. “To enjoy glory? Then do not do so, and you will surely enjoy it. Why do you lay up treasures? To be rich? Then do not lay up treasures, and you will be rich.” So it is here too. Why do you set your heart on the first places? To be ahead of others? Then choose the last place, and you will enjoy the first. So if you want to become great, do not seek to become great, and then you will be great. For the other way is to be small.

Do you see how he drew them away from the disease? He showed them that by the one path they fail to reach what they want, and by the other they gain it, so that they would flee the one and follow after the other. [t]

And this is why he reminded them of the Gentiles, too: so that in this way also he might show the thing to be disgraceful and detestable. For the arrogant man is of necessity low, and on the other hand the humble man is high. This is the height that is true and genuine, and not a height in name only, or in the titles people use when they speak to you. The height that comes from outside comes from compulsion and fear, but this height is like God’s. Such a man, even if no one admires him, remains high; just as the other, even if everyone pays court to him, is the lowest of all men. The one kind of honor is paid under compulsion, and that is why it easily passes away; the other comes from principle, and that is why it stands firm. It is for this that we admire the saints too: though they were greater than all, they humbled themselves more than all. That is why even to this day they remain high, and not even death has brought that height down.

And if you like, let us examine this very point by reasoning as well. A person is called high either when he is tall in stature or when he happens to be set in a high place; and he is called low, in the same way, from the opposite. Let us see, then, which of the two fits this description, the boaster or the man who keeps within bounds, so that you may see that nothing is higher than humility and nothing lower than boastfulness.

The boaster, then, wants to be greater than everyone, and declares that no one is his equal in worth. However much honor he gets, he sets his heart on more and demands it, and thinks he has received none at all. He treats people with utter contempt, and yet he chases after the honor that comes from them. What could be more unreasonable than that? It is really like a riddle: he wants to be glorified by the very people he thinks nothing of.

Do you see how the man who wants to be exalted falls down and is laid on the ground? That he counts all people as nothing compared with himself, he declares himself, for that is what boasting is. Why, then, do you throw yourself on one who is nothing? Why do you seek honor from him? Why do you lead such great crowds around with you?

There you see one who is low, and set in a low place. Come, then, let us look into the high man. He knows what a human being is: that a human being is a great thing, and that he himself is last of all. And so, whatever honor he receives, he counts it great. This man, then, is consistent with himself, and high, and does not shift his judgment. The people he counts great, he counts their honors great too, even if those honors happen to be small, because he considers the people who give them great. But the boastful man counts those who give the honors as nothing, and yet counts the honors they give as great.

Again, the humble man is seized by no passion. No anger can trouble him much, no love of glory, no envy, no jealousy. And what can be higher than the soul that is set free from these things? But the boastful man is held in subjection by all of them, like a worm crawling in the mud, for jealousy and envy and anger are forever troubling his soul.

Which of them, then, is high? The man who is above his passions, or the man who is their slave? The one who trembles at them and is afraid of them, or the one who is not subdued and is never caught by them? Which bird would we say flies higher: the one that is above the hunter’s hands and arrows, or the one that does not even make the hunter need an arrow, because it flies along the ground and can never lift itself up? Is not the arrogant man like that one? For every net easily catches him, crawling as he does on the ground.

And if you like, prove this even from that wicked demon. What can be lower than the devil, since he exalted himself? What is higher than the man who is willing to humble himself? The one crawls on the ground under our heel — for “you tread,” he says, “on serpents and scorpions” — while the other is set on high with the angels. [u]

And if you want to learn this from the example of arrogant men as well, think of that barbarian king who led so great an army, and yet did not know even what is plain to everyone: for instance, that a stone was a stone, and the images were images. That is why he was lower even than the stones and images. But the godly and faithful are raised even above the sun. What could be higher than they, who rise above even the vaults of heaven and, passing beyond the angels, stand beside the very throne of the King?

And so that you may learn their baseness in another way: who will be brought low? The one who has God as his ally, or the one God is at war with? It is quite plain that it is the one he is at war with. Hear, then, what the Scripture says about each of them: “God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.”

Again, I will ask you something else too. Which is higher: the one who serves God as a priest and offers sacrifice, or the one who stands somewhere far off, with no confidence before him? Someone may say: “And what kind of sacrifice does the humble man offer?” Hear David saying, “The sacrifice of God is a crushed spirit; a crushed and humbled heart God will not despise.” Do you see the purity of this man? Now see the uncleanness of the other, for “everyone who is proud in heart is unclean before God.” More than that, the one has God resting on him — “For to whom will I look,” he says, “but to the one who is gentle and quiet, and trembles at my words?” — while the other crawls along with the devil. For the one who is puffed up with pride will suffer the devil’s punishment. That is why Paul too said, “so that he may not be puffed up with pride and fall into the condemnation of the devil.”

And the very opposite of what he wants happens to him. He wants to be arrogant so that he may be honored, but this is the most despised character of all. Such people above all are laughingstocks, foes and enemies to everyone, the easiest to be beaten by their enemies, quick to fall into anger, unclean before God. What, then, can be worse than this? For this is the very limit of evil. And what is sweeter than the humble, what more blessed? For they are longed for, and loved by God. The glory that comes from people, too, they enjoy most of all: everyone honors them as fathers, embraces them as brothers, and welcomes them as members of their own body.

Let us, then, become humble, so that we may be high. For nothing brings a man so utterly low as arrogance. This is what brought Pharaoh low. “I do not know the Lord,” he said, and he became weaker than flies and frogs and locusts, and after that he was drowned in the sea, with his weapons and horses and all. In direct contrast to him, Abraham says, “I am dust and ashes,” and he overcame countless barbarians; and when he had fallen into the midst of the Egyptians, he came back carrying a trophy more glorious than the first. Holding fast to this virtue, he grew ever higher. That is why he is celebrated everywhere, why he is crowned and proclaimed; but Pharaoh is earth and ashes, and anything else there may be that is more worthless than these.

For there is nothing God so detests as arrogance. It was to root out this passion that he has done everything from the beginning. Because of it we have become mortal, and live in sorrows and weeping. Because of it we live in toil and sweat, in constant labor mixed with hardship. For it was out of arrogance that the first man sinned, when he looked to be equal with God. And so he did not keep even what he had, but lost even that.

For arrogance is like this: far from adding any improvement to our life, it takes away even what we have. Humility, on the contrary, far from taking away what we have, adds to it what we do not have. Let us, then, strive after this virtue; let us pursue it, so that we may both enjoy honor now and attain the glory to come, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom be glory and power to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.