Homily 76 — Matthew 24, verses 16 to 31

“Then let those who are in Judea flee to the mountains. Let the one who is on the housetop not come down to take anything out of his house. And let the one who is in the field not turn back to take his clothes.” [a]

He had spoken of the evils that were to overtake the city, and of the trials of the apostles, and how they would remain unconquered and would overrun the whole world. Now he speaks again of the calamities of the Jews, to show that at the very time when the one group would be glorious, having taught the whole world, the other would be in disaster.

And see how he describes the war, setting out how unbearable it was going to be by means of things that seem small. “Then,” he says, “let those who are in Judea flee to the mountains.” Then — when? When these things happen, “when the abomination of desolation stands in the holy place.” That is why he seems to me to be speaking of the armies. So flee then, he says, for from then on there is no hope of safety for you. It had often happened that they recovered themselves after terrible wars, as under Sennacherib, and again under Antiochus. At that time too armies had come in against them and the temple had been seized in advance, yet the Maccabees rallied and turned their affairs the other way. So that they would not suspect that this time too there would be some such reversal, he forbids them every thought of the kind. For from now on, he says, it would be good to escape with nothing but your bare body.

That is why he does not let even those who are on the housetop go into the house to take their clothes. He is showing that the evils cannot be escaped and the calamity has no end, and that whoever was caught in it was bound to perish. That is why he adds the one in the field too, saying that this man must not turn back to take his clothes either. For if those who are indoors are to flee, much more should those who are outdoors not run inside for refuge.

“Woe to those who are pregnant and to those who are nursing.” To the first, because they are slower and cannot flee easily, weighed down by the burden they carry; to the others, because they are held by the tie of feeling for their children and cannot save their nursing infants. Money is an easy thing to despise and an easy thing to come by again, and so are clothes. But the bonds of nature — how could anyone escape them? How could the pregnant woman become quick on her feet? How could the nursing mother bring herself to abandon the child she had borne?

Then, to show again how great the calamity would be, he says, “Pray that your flight may not be in winter, nor on the Sabbath day. For then there will be great distress, such as has not been since the beginning of the world until now, nor ever will be.”

Do you see that his words are addressed to the Jews, and that he is speaking of the evils that would overtake them? The apostles certainly were not going to keep the Sabbath day, or to be there when Vespasian did those things. In fact most of them had already departed this life, and if any remained, he was living by then in other parts of the world. But why “not in winter, nor on the Sabbath day”? Not in winter, because of the hardship of the season; not on the Sabbath day, because of the absolute authority the law held over them. They needed to flee, and to flee as fast as they possibly could; but the Jews would not dare to flee on the Sabbath day because of the law, and in winter such a thing was not easy. That is why he says, “Pray, for then there will be distress such as never was, nor ever will be.”

And let no one suppose this was said as an exaggeration. Let him study the writings of Josephus and learn how true these words were. No one can say that the man was a believer and exaggerated the horrors of the story in order to confirm Christ’s words. For he was a Jew, and a determined Jew, very zealous, and one of those who lived after Christ’s coming.

What, then, does this man say? That those terrors surpassed every tragedy, and that nothing like them had ever overtaken the nation. The famine was so great that mothers themselves fought over eating their children, and there were battles over this; and he says that many, after they were dead, had their bellies ripped open.

So I would gladly ask the Jews: Where did such unbearable wrath from God come upon them, heavier than anything that had happened before, not in Judea only but in any part of the world? Is it not perfectly clear that it was for the deed of the cross, and for this rejection? Everyone would say so — and along with everyone, and before everyone, the plain truth of the facts says it. But notice, I beg you, how enormous these evils were: they appear worse not only compared with the time before, but compared with all time to come. For no one will be able to say that such evils have happened anywhere in the whole world, in all time past or in all time to come. And that is only natural. For no one who has ever lived, or who will live hereafter, has committed a deed so wicked and so horrible. That is why he says, “There will be distress such as never was, nor ever will be.”

“And unless those days were shortened, no flesh would be saved; but for the sake of the elect those days will be shortened.” By these words he shows that they deserved a heavier punishment than the one already described; he is speaking now of the days of the war and of that siege. What he means is something like this: if the war of the Romans against the city had gone on longer, all the Jews would have perished — for by “no flesh” here he means no Jewish flesh — both those abroad and those at home. For the Romans made war not only on those in Judea; they also outlawed and drove out those who were scattered everywhere, because of their hatred for the Jews of Judea.

But whom does he mean here by the elect? The believers who were shut up in the midst of them. So that the Jews could not say that these evils happened because of the good news and the worship of Christ, he shows that the believers were so far from being the cause that, had it not been for them, all would have perished completely. If God had let the war drag on, not even a remnant of the Jews would have been left. But so that those among them who had become believers would not perish together with the unbelieving Jews, he quickly put down the fighting and brought the war to an end. That is why he says, “But for the sake of the elect they will be shortened.” He said these things to leave encouragement for those believers who were shut up in the midst of the others, and to let them breathe again, so that they would not be afraid of perishing along with them. And if here his care for them is so great that for their sake others too are saved, and remnants of the Jews were left for the sake of the Christians, how great will their honor be at the time of their crowns? [g]

By this he also encouraged them not to be distressed at their own dangers, since these others were suffering such things, and to no purpose, but only bringing evil on their own heads.

But he did not only encourage them; he also led them away from the customs of the Jews, quietly and without their suspecting it. For if there is to be no reversal afterward, and the temple is not to stand, it is perfectly plain that the law too will be brought to an end.

He did not say this openly, however, but hinted at it darkly through their complete destruction. He did not say it openly, so as not to alarm them before the time. That is why he did not raise the subject of his own accord at the start either. First he lamented over the city, and so moved them to point out the stones to him and to question him, so that, as though answering their question, he might tell them in advance everything that was to come.

But notice, I beg you, the Spirit’s arrangement. John wrote none of these things, so that he would not seem to be writing from the history of what had already happened — for he lived a long time after the capture of the city. Instead, those who died before its capture and saw none of these things are the ones who write it, so that the power of the prediction might shine out clearly in every way.

“Then if anyone says to you, ‘Look, here is the Christ,’ or ‘There he is,’ do not believe it. For false Christs and false prophets will arise, and will show signs and wonders, so as to deceive, if possible, even the elect. See, I have told you beforehand. So if they say to you, ‘Look, he is in the desert,’ do not go out; ‘Look, he is in the inner rooms,’ do not believe it. For as the lightning comes out of the east and shines as far as the west, so also will the coming of the Son of Man be. For wherever the carcass is, there the eagles will be gathered together.”

Having finished what concerned Jerusalem, he goes on to his own coming and tells its signs — not for their use only, but for us too, and for all who will come after us.

“Then.” When? Here, as I have often said, the word “then” does not tie what follows to the things mentioned before in order of time. At any rate, when he wanted to express a close connection in time, he added, “Immediately after the distress of those days.” Here he does not; he says “then,” meaning not what would follow straight after these things, but what would happen at the time when the things he was about to speak of were to take place. In the same way, when it says, “In those days John the Baptist comes,” the evangelist does not mean the time that followed straight after, but a time many years later, the time in which the things he was about to speak of took place. For in fact, after speaking of the birth of Jesus, and the coming of the magi, and the death of Herod, he at once says, “In those days John the Baptist comes,” although thirty years had passed in between. This is a regular custom of Scripture: to tell things in this way. So here too he passes over all the time in between, from the capture of Jerusalem to the opening signs of the end, and speaks of the time just before the end. “Then,” he says, “if anyone says to you, ‘Look, here is the Christ,’ or ‘There he is,’ do not believe it.”

For the moment he makes them safe on the question of place, giving the distinguishing marks of his second coming and the signs by which to know the deceivers. It will not be then as it was at his first coming, when he appeared in Bethlehem, in a small corner of the world, and at the beginning no one knew him. He does not say it will be like that then. He will come openly, with full display, so that no one will need to announce these things. And this is no small sign that he will not come in secret.

But notice how here he says nothing of war — for he is explaining the teaching about his coming — but speaks of those who try to deceive. Some in the days of the apostles deceived the crowds: “For they will come,” he says, “and will deceive many.” Others will do the same before his second coming, and they will be worse than the first. “For they will show,” he says, “signs and wonders, so as to deceive, if possible, even the elect.” Here he is speaking of the Antichrist, and indicates that some will serve him as well. Paul too speaks of him in this way. Having called him “the man of sin” and “the son of destruction,” he added, “whose coming is by the working of Satan, with all power and signs and lying wonders, and with every deceit of unrighteousness among those who are perishing.”

And see how he makes them safe: “Do not go out into the deserts; do not go into the inner rooms.” He did not say, “Go, but do not believe”; he said, “Do not go out, do not go off there at all.” For the deception will be great then, since even deceiving miracles will be performed.

Having told them how the Antichrist comes — for instance, that he will be in a particular place — he says how he himself comes. How, then, does he come? “As the lightning comes out of the east and shines as far as the west, so also will the coming of the Son of Man be. For wherever the carcass is, there the eagles will be gathered together.” [m]

How, then, does the lightning shine? It needs no one to talk about it, it needs no herald. Even to those sitting in their houses and in their inner rooms it shows itself in an instant, throughout the whole world. So will that coming be, showing itself everywhere at once, because of the shining out of his glory. And he mentions another sign too: “Where the carcass is, there the eagles will be” — meaning the multitude of the angels, of the martyrs, of all the saints.

Then he tells of fearful portents. What are these portents? “Immediately after the distress of those days,” he says, “the sun will be darkened.” The distress of what days does he mean? Those of the Antichrist and the false prophets. For there will be great distress, with so many deceivers about. But it will not be drawn out over a long time. For if the Jewish war was shortened for the sake of the elect, much more will this trial be cut short for the sake of those same elect. That is why he did not say, “after the distress,” but “immediately” — “immediately after the distress of those days the sun will be darkened” — for all things happen at almost the same moment. The false prophets and false Christs will come and cause confusion, and immediately he himself will be here. For no small turmoil is going to take hold of the world then.

But how does he come? With the creation itself transformed then. For “the sun will be darkened” — not destroyed, but overpowered by the light of his presence. “And the stars will fall” — for what need will there be of them from then on, when there is no night? “And the powers of heaven will be shaken” — and that is to be expected, when they see so great a change come about. For if they trembled and marveled when the stars were made — “for when the stars were made,” it says, “all angels praised me with a loud voice” — how much more, when they see all things in the course of changing, and their fellow servants giving account, and the whole world standing before that fearful judgment seat, and all who have lived from Adam to his coming called to account for everything they did — how can they not tremble and be shaken?

“Then the sign of the Son of Man will appear in heaven.” That is, the cross, brighter than the sun. For the sun will be darkened and hidden, and the cross will appear — which it would not do unless it were far brighter than the sun’s rays. But why does the sign appear? So that the shamelessness of the Jews may be all the more thoroughly silenced. For Christ comes to that judgment seat holding the cross as his greatest plea, showing not only his wounds but also the death of shame. “Then the tribes will mourn.” For there will be no need of any accusation when they see the cross. And they will mourn because they have gained nothing from his death, since they crucified the one they ought to have worshiped.

Do you see how fearfully he has pictured his coming? How he has stirred up the spirits of his disciples? That, I should add, is why he puts the sorrowful things first and then the good things, so that in this way too he may comfort and refresh them. He reminds them of his suffering and of his resurrection, and he speaks of his cross with a display of glory, so that they will not be ashamed or grieve, since he comes then holding it up as his sign. And another says, “They will look on him whom they pierced.” That is why they will mourn, when they see that this is he.

And since he had mentioned the cross, he added, “They will see the Son of Man coming” — no longer on the cross, but “in the clouds of heaven, with power and great glory.”

For do not think, he means, because you hear of the cross, that it is anything sorrowful again; for he will come with power and great glory. But he brings it so that their sin may stand condemned by itself — as if someone who had been struck by a stone were to show the stone itself, or his clothes stained with blood. And he comes in a cloud, as he was taken up; and the tribes, seeing these things, mourn. Not that their terrors will go no further than mourning; but the mourning will be so that they may pronounce their own sentence from within themselves and condemn themselves.

And then again: “He will send his angels with a great trumpet, and they will gather the elect from the four winds, from one end of heaven to the other.”

But when you have heard this, consider the punishment of those who are left behind. For they will not suffer that earlier penalty only, but this one too. And as he said above that they would say, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord,” so here he says that they will mourn. He had spoken to them of terrible wars; so, that they might learn that along with the fearful things here, torments await them there too, he shows them mourning, separated from the elect, and handed over to hell. By this again he rouses the disciples, and shows them from how many evils they will be delivered, and how many good things they will enjoy.

And why does he summon them through angels, if he comes so openly? To honor them in this way too. But Paul says that they “will be caught up in the clouds.” He said this too when he was speaking about the resurrection: “For the Lord himself,” it says, “will come down from heaven with a shout, with the voice of an archangel.” So when they have risen again, the angels will gather them together, and when they are gathered together, the clouds will catch them up. And all these things happen in a moment, in an instant. For it is not that he stays above and calls them; he himself comes, with the sound of a trumpet. And what do the trumpets and the sound mean? They are to rouse, to bring gladness, to set forth how astounding the things then taking place are, and to bring grief to those who are left behind.

Alas for me, for that fearful day! We ought to rejoice when we hear these things, yet we feel pain and are downcast, and our faces are gloomy. Or is it only I who feel this way, and do you rejoice to hear these things? For my part, at least, a kind of shudder comes over me when these things are spoken, and I lament bitterly and groan from the very depth of my heart. For I have no share in these things, but in the things spoken afterward — the words said to the virgins, to the man who buried the talents he had received, to the wicked servant. This is why I weep: to think from what glory we are to be thrown out, from what hope of blessings — and that perpetually and forever — to spare ourselves a little labor.

If this really were a great toil and a heavy law, we ought still to do everything it asked. Even so, many of the careless would seem to have at least some excuse — a poor excuse, to be sure, but they would seem to have one: that the toil was great, the time endless, and the burden unbearable. But as it is, we can put forward no such objection. And that, more than anything, will gnaw at us then no less than hell itself: that for want of a slight effort and a little toil we have lost heaven and its blessings beyond words. For the time is short and the labor small, and yet we lose heart and lie idle. You struggle on earth, and the crown is in heaven. You are punished by men, and honored by God. The race lasts two days, and the reward endless ages. The struggle is in a body that perishes, and the rewards in one that cannot perish.

And apart from these things, we should consider another point too: even if we do not choose to suffer any of these painful things for Christ’s sake, we will certainly have to endure them in other ways. For even if you do not die for Christ, you will not be immortal; and even if you do not throw away your riches for Christ, you will not take them with you when you leave this world. These are the things he asks of you — things you will have to give up even if he does not ask for them, because you are mortal. He wants you to do by choice what you must do by necessity. He asks only that one thing be added: that it be done for his sake. For that these things befall people and pass away comes about by the necessity of nature. Do you see how easy the contest is? “What you absolutely must suffer, choose to suffer for my sake. Only let this be added, and I count it obedience enough. The gold you mean to lend to someone else, lend to me instead — at a greater profit and with greater security. Your body, which you are about to send to war for someone else, make it fight for me; for I surpass your toils with rewards in the most abundant excess.” Yet in everything else you prefer the one who gives you more — in lending, in buying and selling, and in soldiering. Christ alone, though he gives more, infinitely more than all, you do not accept. What is this great hostility? What is this great enmity? What excuse or defense will be left to you, when the very reasons for which you prefer one man to another do not move you to prefer God to man?

Why do you commit your treasure to the earth? “Put it into my hand,” he says. Does not the Lord of the earth seem more trustworthy to you than the earth? The earth returns what you put into it — and often not even that — but he even gives you a reward for keeping it. For he loves us exceedingly. So if you wish to lend, he stands ready; if you wish to sow, he receives the seed; if you wish to build, he draws you to himself, saying, “Build in my lands.” Why do you run to poor and beggarly men, who cause you great trouble even for small gains? Yet even when we hear these things we do not make up our minds to it. Instead, wherever there are fights and wars and fierce struggles, trials and lawsuits and false accusations, there we hurry.

Is it not right, then, that he turns away from us and punishes us, when he gives himself up to us for everything and we resist him? Surely that is plain to all. Whether you want to adorn yourself — “Let it be with my ornaments,” he says; or to arm yourself, “with my weapons”; or to clothe yourself, “with my clothing”; or to feed yourself, “at my table”; or to travel, “on my road”; or to inherit, “my inheritance”; or to enter a homeland, “the city whose builder and maker I am”; or to build a house, “among my dwellings.” “For I, far from asking you for any repayment for what I give you, even make myself your debtor for this very thing, if you are willing to use all that I have.” What could equal this generosity? “I am father, I am brother, I am bridegroom, I am home, I am food, I am clothing, I am root, I am foundation — whatever you want, I am. Be in need of nothing. I will even be a servant, for I came to serve, not to be served. I am friend, and member, and head, and brother, and sister, and mother; I am everything. Only cling closely to me. I was poor for you, and a wanderer for you, on the cross for you, in the tomb for you. Above, I plead with the Father for you; on earth, I have come for your sake as an ambassador from my Father. You are everything to me — brother, and joint heir, and friend, and member.” What more do you want? Why do you turn away from the one who loves you? Why do you labor for the world? Why do you pour water into a broken cistern? For that is what it is to labor for the present life. Why do you comb wool into the fire? Why do you “beat the air”? Why do you “run in vain”?

Does not every craft have an end it aims at? That is surely plain to everyone. Then you too, show me the end of your worldly eagerness. But you cannot; for “vanity of vanities, all is vanity.” Let us go to the tombs. Show me your father; show me your wife. Where is the man who was dressed in cloth of gold? The one who rode in the chariot? The one who had armies, who wore the belt of office, who had the heralds? The one who put these to death and threw those into prison? Who killed whom he pleased and set free whom he chose? I see nothing but bones, and a worm, and a spider’s web. All those things are earth, all a fable, all a dream and a shadow, a bare tale, and a picture — or rather, not even a picture. For in a picture we at least see a likeness; here there is not even a likeness.

And I wish the evils stopped there! As it is, the honor and the luxury and the distinction end in a shadow, in words. But what follows from them is no longer confined to a shadow and to words. It remains, and will pass over with us to the other world, and will be laid open to all: the robbery, the greed, the acts of sexual immorality, the adulteries, the countless dreadful things. These are not a mere likeness, nor ashes, but written up above, both words and deeds.

With what eyes, then, will we look at Christ? If someone could not bear to see his father when he knew in his heart that he had sinned against him, how will we look then on the one who infinitely surpasses a father in patience? How will we bear it? For we will indeed stand at Christ’s judgment seat, and there will be a strict inquiry into everything. But if anyone does not believe in the judgment to come, let him look at things here: at those in the prisons, those in the mines, those on the dung heaps, the demon-possessed, the insane, those struggling with incurable diseases, those fighting against unending poverty, those living in famine, those pierced by woes past remedy, those in captivity. These people would not suffer these things here unless retribution and punishment were waiting for all the others, too, who have committed such sins. And if the others have suffered nothing here, you should take that very fact as a sign that something certainly awaits us after we leave this world. For the same God of all would not punish some and leave others unpunished who have committed the same sins or worse, unless he meant to bring some punishment on them there.

So by these arguments and these examples let us humble ourselves too. And let those who stubbornly refuse to believe in the judgment believe it from now on and become better people, so that, having lived here in a way worthy of the kingdom, we may attain the good things to come, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen.