Homily 72 — Matthew 23, verses 1 to 13

“Then Jesus spoke to the crowds and to his disciples, saying, ‘The scribes and the Pharisees sit in Moses’ seat. So do everything they tell you to do; but do not do as they do.’” [a]

“Then.” When? When he had said these things; when he had stopped their mouths; when he had brought them to the point where they no longer dared to test him; when he had shown that their condition could not be cured.

And since he had spoken of “the Lord” and “my Lord,” he comes back once more to the law. And yet the law said nothing of this kind; what it said was, “The Lord your God is one Lord.” But Scripture calls the whole Old Testament the law.

He says these things to show in every way that he is in full agreement with the one who begot him. If he were opposed to him, he would have said the opposite about the law. But as it is, he commands that so much reverence be shown to it that he charges them to hold to it even when those who teach it are corrupt.

Here, though, he is speaking about their life and conduct, since this was the chief cause of their unbelief: their corrupt life and their love of glory. So, to set his hearers right, he commands with overflowing earnestness the thing that, first of all, does the most toward salvation: not to despise our teachers, and not to rise up against our priests. And he does not only command it; he does it himself. Corrupt as they were, he does not remove them from their position of honor. In this way he makes their condemnation heavier, and leaves his disciples no cover for disobedience.

I mean that he takes away even this excuse, so that no one could say he had grown more careless because his teacher was bad. So firmly, at any rate, did he establish their authority, wicked men though they were, that even after so heavy an accusation he says, “Whatever they command you to do, do.” For they are not speaking their own words, but God’s: the laws he laid down through Moses. And notice how much honor he showed to Moses, once again showing his agreement with the Old Testament, since by this very thing he makes them objects of reverence. “For they sit,” he says, “in Moses’ seat.” Since he could not make them out to be worthy of trust on the ground of their life, he does it on the grounds that were open to him: their seat, and their succession from Moses.

But when you hear the word “everything,” do not take it to mean the whole law — for instance, the rules about foods, the rules about sacrifices, and the like. How could he say this of those things, when he had already done away with them? He meant everything that corrects moral character, improves the disposition, agrees with the laws of the New Testament, and no longer leaves people under the yoke of the law.

Why, then, does he give these things divine authority not from the law of grace but from Moses? Because before the crucifixion it was not yet time for these things to be plainly declared.

But it seems to me that, besides what has been said, he has another purpose in saying these things. He was about to accuse them, and he did not want the foolish to think that he coveted this authority of theirs, or that he was doing it out of hostility. So he first removed this thought, and only when he had put himself beyond suspicion does he begin his accusation. And why does he expose them and go on into a long speech against them? To put the crowd on their guard, so that they would not fall into the same sins. For simply warning people off is not the same as pointing out those who have done wrong, just as recommending what is right is not the same as holding up those who have done well. That is why he says in advance, “Do not do as they do.” Since they might suppose that, because they were to listen to these men, they ought to imitate them too, he uses this means of correction, and turns what seems to be their honor into a charge against them. For what could be more pitiful than a teacher whose disciples are kept safe only by paying no attention to his life? So what seems to be their honor is a very heavy charge against them, when they are shown to live such a life that those who imitate it are ruined.

For this reason he also launches into his accusations against them. But not for this reason only: he also wanted to show that their earlier unbelief, when they would not believe, and the crucifixion they dared to carry out after it, were a charge not against the one who was crucified and disbelieved, but against their own perversity.

But see where he begins, and how he makes his blame of them heavier. “For they say,” he says, “and do not do.” Everyone who breaks the law deserves blame, but especially the one who holds the authority to teach, for he deserves to be condemned twice and three times over. First, because he breaks the law. Second, because he deserves a double punishment on account of his position: he ought to set others right, and he is limping himself. And third, because he corrupts others all the more, since he commits such a transgression from a teacher’s place.

And together with these he mentions another charge against them: that they are harsh to those who answer to them. “For they bind heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on people’s shoulders, but they will not move them with their finger.” Here he names a twofold wickedness. They demanded a great and extreme strictness of life, without any leniency, from those they ruled, while allowing themselves every ease. The truly good ruler ought to hold to the opposite: in what concerns himself, to be an unsparing and severe judge, but in the affairs of those he rules, to be gentle and ready to make allowances. These men did the very reverse.

That is what all those are like who practice self-control only in words: unsparing and hard to bear, since they have no experience of how difficult it is in practice. And this too is no small fault; it adds not a little to the former charge. [c]

But notice, I beg you, how he makes this accusation heavier too. He did not say, “they cannot,” but, “they will not.” And he did not say, “to bear,” but, “to move with a finger” — that is, not even to come near them or touch them.

Then in what are they earnest and energetic? In the things that are forbidden. “For they do all their works,” he says, “to be seen by people.” He says this to accuse them of empty glory, the very thing that ruined them. The earlier charges were signs of harshness and carelessness; these are signs of a mad passion for glory. This drew them away from God; this made them compete before other spectators, and ruined them. For whatever kind of spectators a person has, since his whole aim has become to please them, the contests he puts on will be of the same kind. The one who wrestles before noble spectators takes on contests to match; the one who wrestles before the cold and the idle grows more careless himself. For instance, does someone have a spectator who loves a joke? He becomes a joker himself, to delight that spectator. Does another have one who is earnest and practices mastery of himself? He tries to be like him, since that is the character of the one who praises him.

But see again that here too the charge is made heavier. It is not that they do some things this way and some another way; they do absolutely everything this way.

Then, having blamed them for empty glory, he shows that it is not even over great and necessary things that they seek glory — for they did not have these; they were empty of good works — but over things without warmth or worth, things that were sure proofs of their meanness: the phylacteries and the borders of their garments. “For they make their phylacteries broad,” he says, “and enlarge the borders of their garments.”

And what are these phylacteries and these borders? Since they were forever forgetting God’s benefits, he commanded that his wonderful works be written on small tablets and that these be hung from their hands — which is why he also said, “They will be immovable before your eyes.” These they called phylacteries, just as many of our women now wear Gospels hung from their necks.

And so that they would be reminded by another thing as well — just as many people often do when they are likely to forget, tying a strip of linen or a thread around their finger — God commanded them, as he would children, “to sew a ribbon of blue on their garments, on the fringe that hung around their feet, so that they might look at it and remember the commandments.” These were called “borders.”

In these things, then, they were diligent, making the strips of the tablets wide and enlarging the borders of their garments. That was a sign of the most extreme vanity. Why are you seeking glory, and making these wide? What — is this your good work? What good does it do you at all, if you do not gain the good results they were meant for? God is not looking for these to be enlarged and made wide, but for us to remember his benefits. And if we must not seek empty glory even for almsgiving and prayer, though they cost us labor and are good deeds on our part, how can you, O Jew, pride yourself on these things, which more than anything prove your carelessness?

But it was not only in these things that they suffered from this disease; it was in other little things too. “For they love,” he says, “the places of honor at feasts, and the chief seats in the synagogues, and greetings in the marketplaces, and to be called Rabbi by people.” Small as one may think these things, they are the cause of great evils. They have overthrown both cities and churches.

And it moves me even to weep now, when I hear of the first seats and the greetings, and think how many evils have sprung from them for the churches of God. There is no need to make them public to you now; indeed, those of you who are older do not even need to learn them from us.

But notice, I beg you, how strong empty glory had grown in them. Though they had been commanded not to seek it, they sought it even in the synagogues, where they had gone in to train others. To feel this way at feasts, however far it goes, does not seem so dreadful a thing — although even there teachers ought to be held in respect, and not in the church only, but everywhere. Just as a man, wherever he appears, is plainly set apart from the animals, so the teacher too, whether speaking or silent, at dinner or doing anything else at all, ought to be set apart by his walk, his look, his dress, and everything about him. But these men made themselves a laughingstock on every count and disgraced themselves in every respect, making it their business to pursue what they ought to flee. For “they love” these things, it says. But if loving them deserves blame, what must doing them be? And how great an evil it is to hunt after them and strive for them!

The other things, then, he carried no further than an accusation, since they were small and trivial, as though his disciples had no need at all of being corrected about them. But the thing that was the cause of all the evils — ambition, and seizing the teacher’s chair by force — this he brings forward and corrects with care, taking it up forcefully and charging them earnestly. [f]

What does he say? “But you are not to be called Rabbi.” Then follows the reason as well: “For one is your Teacher, and you are all brothers.” No one has anything more than another, since no one knows anything of himself. That is why Paul also says, “For who is Paul, and who is Apollos, but servants?” He did not say “teachers.” And again, “Do not call anyone father” — not that they are never to use the word, but so that they may know whom they ought to call Father in the highest sense. For just as a human teacher is not a teacher in the first and proper sense, neither is a human father. For he is the cause of all, both of teachers and of fathers.

And again he adds, “Do not be called guides either, for one is your guide, Christ.” He did not say, “I.” Just as earlier he said, “What do you think of Christ?” and did not say, “of me,” so here too. But here I would be glad to ask those who keep applying the word “one, one” to the Father alone, to shut out the only Son, what they would say. Is the Father a guide? Everyone would say so, and no one would deny it. And yet “one,” he says, “is your guide, Christ.” So just as Christ, when he is called the one guide, does not shut the Father out from being guide, so the Father, when he is called Teacher, does not shut the Son out from being Teacher. For the word “one, one” is spoken in contrast to human beings and the rest of creation.

So, having warned them against this grievous plague and set them right, he also teaches them how to escape it: by humility. That is why he adds, “The one who is greatest among you will be your servant. For whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.”

Nothing is equal to the practice of modesty. That is why he keeps reminding them of this virtue, both when he set the children in the middle of them and now. And on the mountain, when he began the Beatitudes, he began from here. And in this place he tears the evil up by its roots, saying, “Whoever humbles himself will be exalted.” Do you see how he pulls the hearer right across to the opposite side? He not only forbids him to set his heart on the first place; he tells him to go after the last. “For that is how you will get what you want,” he says. So the one who is after the first place must go after the last. “For whoever humbles himself will be exalted.”

And where will we find this humility? Would you like us to go once more to the city of virtue — to the tents of the holy men, I mean, the mountains and the woods? There too we will see this height of humility.

There, men — some distinguished by their rank in the world, some by their wealth — make themselves low in every way: by their clothing, by their dwelling, by the people they serve. As if in written letters, they inscribe humility across everything they do.

And the things that feed arrogance — dressing well, building splendid houses, having many servants, things that often drive people into arrogance even against their will — are all taken away. They light their own fire, split their own logs, do their own cooking, and wait on those who come there themselves.

No one there can be heard insulting anyone, or seen being insulted; no one is ordered about, and no one gives orders. All are given over to serving those who are waited on. Every one of them washes the feet of strangers, and there is great rivalry over this. And he does it without asking who the guest is, whether he is a slave or free; he performs this service for everyone. No one there is great or lowly. What, then? Is there confusion? Far from it; there is the highest order. For if someone is lowly, the one who is great does not see it, but counts himself lower even than him, and so becomes great. There is one table for all, for those who are served and those who serve: the same food, the same clothes, the same dwellings, the same way of life. The great man there is the one who is quick to seize the lowly task. There is no “mine” and “yours”; that phrase, the cause of countless wars, has been banished.

And why are you surprised that there is one way of life and one table and one dress for all, when there is even one soul in them all — not only in nature, for all people share that, but in love? How then could it ever lift itself up against itself? There is no wealth and poverty there, no honor and dishonor; how then could haughtiness and arrogance find a way in? They are, of course, lesser and greater in virtue; but, as I have said, no one sees this. The lesser one does not feel hurt at being looked down on, for there is no one to look down on him. And if anyone did treat him with contempt, this is the very thing they are taught above all: to be looked down on, treated with contempt, and counted as nothing, in word and in deed. They keep company with the poor and the crippled, and their tables are full of such guests; for this they are worthy of heaven. One dresses the wounds of the maimed, another leads the blind by the hand, a third carries the man who is lame in the leg. [i]

There is no crowd of flatterers or hangers-on there; rather, they do not even know what flattery is. So how could they ever be lifted up? There is great equality among them, and that makes virtue much easier. By these things those of the lesser sort are better taught than if they were forced to give up the first place to them. For just as the hot-tempered man learns from the one he strikes, and gives way, so the ambitious man learns from the one who does not claim glory but despises it. This they do there in abundance. Among us the struggle to get the first place is great; among them the struggle is just as great not to get it, but to refuse it outright. And their great eagerness is to see who can come out ahead in giving honor, not in receiving it.

Besides this, their very work persuades them to think modestly of themselves and not to swell with pride. Tell me, who that digs the earth, and waters, and plants, or makes baskets, or weaves sackcloth, or practices any other handwork, will ever be proud? Who that lives in poverty and wrestles with hunger will ever be sick with this disease? Not one. So humility comes easily to them. And just as here it is hard to be humble, because of the crowds who applaud and admire us, so there it is very easy.

That man pays attention only to the wilderness. He sees birds flying, trees waving, a breeze blowing, and streams rushing through the valleys. How could someone who lives in such deep solitude be lifted up? Not that this gives us an excuse for being proud because we live among people. Abraham, surely, living among the Canaanites, said, “I am but dust and ashes”; and David, in the middle of army camps, “I am a worm, and not a man”; and the apostle, in the middle of the world, “I am not fit to be called an apostle.” What comfort will we have, then, what defense, when even with such great examples we do not practice modesty? Just as they are worthy of countless crowns, since they were the first to walk the road of virtue, so we deserve countless punishments. For we are not drawn to imitate them — not by those who have died and are set before us in books, and not even by these who are living now and are admired for their deeds. What could you say for not changing your ways? That you cannot read, and have not looked into the Scriptures to learn the virtues of those of old? To tell the truth, this itself deserves blame: that when the church stands open all the time, you do not go in and share in those sacred streams.

But even if you do not know the departed from the Scriptures, you ought to go and see these living men. Is there no one to take you? Come to me, and I will show you the retreats of these holy men. Come and learn something useful from them. They are shining lamps in every part of the earth; they are set around the cities like walls. That is why they have taken to the deserts: to teach you to despise the uproar of life in the middle of the world.

For they, being strong, can enjoy calm even in the middle of the raging waters; but you, leaking on every side, need stillness, and a little breathing space after wave upon wave. So go there constantly, so that when you have washed away the stain that clings to you by their prayers and warnings, you may both live the present life in the best way and attain the good things to come, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom and with whom be glory, might and honor to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.