Homily 82 — Matthew 26, verses 26 to 35

“And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and gave thanks, and broke it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat; this is my body.” “And he took a cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink from it, all of you; this is my blood of the new covenant, which is shed for many, for the forgiveness of sins.” [a]

Oh, how great is the blindness of the traitor! Even sharing in the mysteries, he stayed the same; admitted to the most holy table, he did not change. Luke shows this when he says that after this Satan entered into him — not because Satan despised the Lord’s body, but because from then on he laughed with contempt at the traitor’s shamelessness. For his sin became greater on both counts: that he came to the mysteries in such a frame of mind, and that, having come to them, he was not made better, whether by fear, or by the benefit, or by the honor. Yet Christ did not forbid him, though he knew everything, so that you may learn that he leaves out nothing that serves to set a person right. That is why, both before this and after it, he kept warning him and holding him back, by deeds and by words, by fear and by kindness, by threats and by honor. But none of these things drew him away from that terrible plague.

So from then on he leaves him, and by the mysteries he again reminds the disciples that he is to be slain. In the middle of the meal he speaks of the cross, making his suffering easier to accept by repeating the prediction again and again. For if they were troubled even when so many things had been done and foretold, what would they not have felt if they had heard none of it?

“And as they were eating, he took bread, and broke it.” Why did he establish this mystery at that particular time, at the Passover? So that you may learn from everything both that he is the Lawgiver of the old covenant, and that the things in it were foreshadowings made for the sake of these. That is why, I say, he sets the reality in the very place where the type was.

The evening, too, is a sure sign of the fullness of the times, and that things had now come to their very end.

And he gives thanks, to teach us how we ought to celebrate this mystery; to show that he does not come to his suffering unwillingly; and to teach us to bear whatever we suffer with thanksgiving — from this, too, suggesting good hopes. For if the type was a deliverance from such slavery, how much more will the reality set the world free, and how much more will he be handed over for the good of our race! That is why, I would add, he did not establish the mystery before this, but only when the rites of the law were from then on to cease. And so he brings the very chief of the feasts to an end, moving them over to another table, most awe-inspiring, and he says, “Take, eat; this is my body, which is broken for many.”

How was it that they were not thrown into confusion when they heard this? Because he had already told them many great things about it. That is why he offers no further proof of it — they had heard enough — but speaks of the reason for his suffering, namely, the taking away of sins. He calls it blood of a new covenant, that is, of the pledge, the promise, the new law. For this is what he pledged long ago, and this is what makes up the covenant that belongs to the new law. And just as the old covenant had sheep and bulls, so this one has the Lord’s blood. By this, too, he shows that he is soon to die, which is why he mentioned a covenant; and he also reminds them of the former covenant, for that too was inaugurated with blood. And again he tells the reason for his death: “which is shed for many for the forgiveness of sins”; and he says, “Do this in remembrance of me.” Do you see how he moves them away and draws them off from Jewish customs? “Just as you did that,” he says, “in remembrance of the miracles in Egypt, so do this in remembrance of me.” That blood was shed to save the firstborn; this is shed for the forgiveness of the sins of the whole world. For “this,” he says, “is my blood, which is shed for the forgiveness of sins.”

He said this to show that his suffering and his cross are a mystery, and by this too he comforts his disciples once more. And just as Moses says, “This will be to you for an everlasting memorial,” so he too says, “in remembrance of me,” until I come. That is also why he says, “With desire I have desired to eat this Passover” — that is, to hand on to you the new rites, and to give you a Passover by which I am to make you spiritual.

And he himself drank of it. For when they heard this, they might have said, “What is this? Are we to drink blood and eat flesh?” and then been perplexed — for when he first began to speak about these things, many took offense at the very words. So that they would not be troubled this time as well, he did it first himself, leading them to share in the mysteries with calm minds. That is why he himself drank his own blood. “Must we, then, keep that other, ancient rite as well?” someone may say. Not at all. That is exactly why he said, “Do this”: to draw them away from the other. For if this brings about the forgiveness of sins, as it certainly does, the other is now superfluous.

So, as in the case of the Jews, here too he has bound up the memorial of the benefit with the mystery, and by this again he stops the mouths of heretics. For when they say, “Where is the proof that Christ was sacrificed?” we stop their mouths from the mysteries too, along with our other arguments. For if Jesus did not die, what are the rites symbols of?

Do you see how much care has been taken that it should always be remembered that he died for us? Since the Marcionites, the Valentinians and the Manichaeans were going to arise and deny this plan of salvation, he keeps reminding us of his suffering even through the mysteries, so that no one would be deceived — at once saving us and teaching us by means of that sacred table. For this is the chief of the blessings, which is why Paul too presses this point in every way. [i]

Then, when he had given it, he says, “I will not drink of the fruit of this wine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom.” Because he had spoken with them about his suffering and cross, he now brings in what he has to say about his resurrection: he mentions a kingdom to them, and by that name he means his own resurrection.

And why did he drink after he had risen again? So that the duller sort would not suppose the resurrection was only an appearance. For ordinary people took this as the sure proof that he had risen. That is why the apostles too, when they persuade people about the resurrection, say this: “We, who ate and drank with him.”

So, to show that they would see him plainly risen again, that he would be with them once more, and that they themselves would be witnesses to what was done, both by sight and by experience, he says, “until I drink it new with you” — with you bearing witness, he means, for you will see me risen again.

But what does “new” mean? In a new way — that is, a strange one — not with a body that can suffer, but one now immortal and incorruptible, and needing no food. So it was not from need that he ate and drank after the resurrection, for his body no longer needed these things, but to give full assurance of his resurrection.

And why, after he had risen, did he drink wine and not water? To pull up by the roots another wicked heresy. For there are some who use water in the mysteries. So, to show that when he handed on the mysteries he had given wine, and that when he had risen and was setting before them a plain meal without the mysteries he used wine, he says, “of the fruit of the vine.” And a vine produces wine, not water.

“And when they had sung a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives.” Let them hear this, all those who, like pigs eating anyhow, treat their everyday table with contempt and get up from it drunk, when they ought to give thanks and end with a hymn. Hear this, all of you who do not wait for the last prayer of the mysteries, for this hymn is a figure of that prayer. He gave thanks before he gave it to his disciples, so that we too may give thanks. He gave thanks and sang a hymn after the giving, so that we too may do this very same thing.

But why does he go out to the mountain? He makes himself plain to see so that he may be taken, and so as not to seem to be hiding. For he hurried to go to the place that Judas also knew.

Then “he says to them, All of you will stumble because of me.” After this he also cites a prophecy: “For it is written, I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered.” By this he at once persuades them always to pay attention to what is written, and makes it plain that he was crucified according to God’s purpose. In every way he shows that he was no stranger to the old covenant, or to the God proclaimed in it, but that what was being done was God’s arrangement, and that the prophets had all proclaimed beforehand, from the beginning, everything the matter involved — so that they might be fully confident about the better things as well. He also teaches us to know what the disciples were before the crucifixion, and what they were after it. For those who, when he was crucified, could not so much as stand their ground became mighty after his death, and stronger than diamond.

And this very thing is a proof of his death — the fright and cowardice, I mean, of his disciples. For if, when so much has been both done and said, some are still shameless enough to say that he was not crucified, what pitch of wickedness would they not have reached if none of these things had happened? So for this reason he confirms what he said about his death not only by his own sufferings but also by what happened to the disciples, and by the mysteries as well, in every way putting to shame those who are sick with the plague of Marcion. For this reason he lets even the chief apostle deny him. But if he was not bound and crucified, where did the fear come from that seized Peter and the rest of the apostles?

Yet he does not leave them, on the other hand, to wait until the sorrows come. What does he say? “But after I have risen again, I will go before you into Galilee.” For he does not appear from heaven all at once, nor will he go off to some distant country, but in the same nation in which he had been crucified, and nearly in the same place, so as to assure them again by this that the one who was crucified was the very same one who rose again, and in this way to comfort them more fully in their sorrow. That is also why he said “in Galilee”: so that, freed from their fear of the Jews, they might believe what he said. And that is why he did appear there.

“But Peter answered and said, Though all should stumble because of you, I will never stumble.”

What are you saying, Peter? The prophet said, “The sheep will be scattered”; Christ has confirmed the saying; and do you say no? Was what happened before not enough, when you said, “Far be it from you,” and your mouth was stopped? This is why he lets him fall: to teach him to believe Christ in everything, and to count Christ’s declaration more trustworthy than one’s own conscience. The rest, too, gained no small benefit from his denial, having come to know human weakness and God’s truth. For when he foretells anything, we must no longer split hairs, or lift ourselves above everyone else. For, it says, “You will have your rejoicing in yourself, and not in another.” When he should have prayed and said, “Help us, so that we are not cut off,” he is confident in himself and says, “Though all should stumble because of you, I never will” — though all should undergo this, I will not undergo it. This led him on, little by little, to self-confidence. So Christ, wanting to put this down, permitted his denial. For he submitted neither to Christ nor to the prophet — and yet it was precisely so that they would not contradict him that Christ had brought in the prophet as well. Since, then, he did not submit to his words, he is taught by deeds. [o]

To prove that he permitted it for this purpose, to correct this in him, listen to what he says: “I have prayed for you, that your faith may not fail.” He said this reproving him sharply, and showing that his fall was more serious than that of the rest, and needed more help. For there were two faults: that he contradicted, and that he set himself above the others — or rather a third as well, that he credited everything to himself. So, to cure these, he let the fall happen; and for this reason he also leaves the others aside and addresses himself earnestly to him. For “Simon,” he says, “Simon, look, Satan has desired to have you, so that he may sift you like wheat” — that is, trouble you, confound you, tempt you — “but I have prayed for you, that your faith may not fail.”

And if Satan desired to have all of them, why did he not say about all of them, “I have prayed for you”? Is it not quite plain that it is for the reason I mentioned before — that he directs his words to Peter to reprove him, and to show that his fall was more serious than that of the rest?

And why did he not say, “But I did not allow it,” rather than, “I have prayed”? From this point on, as he goes to his suffering, he speaks in a lowly way, to show his humanity. For he who built his church on Peter’s confession, and so fortified it that ten thousand dangers and deaths will not prevail against it; he who gave him the keys of heaven and put him in possession of so much authority, and needed no prayer at all for these ends — for he did not say, “I have prayed,” but with his own authority, “I will build my church, and I will give you the keys of heaven” — how would he need to pray in order to brace up the shaken soul of a single man? Why, then, did he speak this way? For the reason I mentioned, and because of their weakness, for they did not yet have a fitting view of him.

How, then, did Peter come to deny him? He did not say, “that you may not deny me,” but “that your faith may not fail” — that you may not perish utterly. For this came from his care.

For fear had driven out everything else. It was beyond measure, and it became beyond measure because God had withdrawn his help from him beyond measure; and he withdrew it beyond measure because the failing of self-will and contradiction was in him beyond measure. So, in order to pull it up by the roots, he let the terror overtake him.

To prove that this failing had a strong hold on him: he was not content with his earlier words, in which he contradicted both the prophet and Christ, but even after this, when Christ had said to him, “Truly I tell you, that this night, before the rooster crows, you will deny me three times,” he answers, “Even if I must die with you, I will not deny you in any way.” And Luke indicates, besides, that the more Christ warned him, the more fiercely Peter opposed him.

What does this mean, Peter? When he was saying, “One of you will betray me,” you were afraid you might be the traitor, and you pressed the disciple to ask, though you were aware of no such thing in yourself. But now, when he is plainly crying out and saying, “All of you will stumble,” do you contradict him — and not once only, but twice, and often? For that is what Luke says.

Where, then, did this come from in him? From great love, from great joy. I mean that once he had been freed from that distressing fear about the betrayal, and knew who the traitor was, he spoke confidently and lifted himself up over the rest, saying, “Though all should stumble, I will not stumble.” And in some degree his conduct came from jealousy too, for at the supper they argued about “which of them was the greatest” — so much did this feeling trouble them. So he checked him — not forcing him into the denial, God forbid! — but leaving him without his help, and exposing human nature for what it is.

See, at any rate, how he was subdued after these things. After the resurrection, when he had said, “And what will this man do?” and was silenced, he no longer dared to contradict as he did here, but held his peace. Again, near the time when Christ was taken up into heaven, when he heard, “It is not for you to know times or seasons,” once more he holds his peace and does not contradict. After this, on the housetop, at the vision of the sheet, when he heard a voice saying to him, “What God has cleansed, do not call common,” even though he did not know at the time what the saying could mean, he keeps quiet and does not argue.

All this that fall accomplished. Before it he credited everything to himself, saying, “Though all should stumble, I will not stumble,” and, “Even if I must die, I will not deny you” — when he should have said, “If I receive help from you.” But after these things it was altogether the opposite: “Why do you fix your attention on us, as though by our own power or holiness we had made him walk?” [t]

From this we learn a great teaching: that a person’s willingness is not enough unless he receives help from above, and again, that we will gain nothing from the help from above if there is no willingness. Judas and Peter both show this. The one, though he had received much help, profited nothing, because he was not willing and did not contribute his part. This one, though he was eager in mind, fell because he received no help. For virtue’s web is woven of these two threads.

So I urge you: when you have cast everything on God, do not go to sleep yourselves; and when you are laboring earnestly, do not think you will accomplish everything by your own efforts. For God does not want us to be idle, which is why he does not do it all himself; nor does he want us to be boasters, which is why he did not give it all to us. Instead, he took away what was harmful on either side and left what is useful for us. That is why he let even the chief apostle fall: to make him humbler in mind, and to train him from then on to greater love. For “the one who is forgiven more,” it says, “loves more.”

Let us, then, believe God in everything and contradict him in nothing, even if what he says seems contrary to our thoughts and our senses. Let his word carry more authority than both our reasoning and our sight. Let us do this in the mysteries too, not looking at the things set before us, but keeping his sayings in mind.

For his word cannot deceive, but our senses are easily misled. His word has never failed; our senses go wrong in most things. So since the word says, “This is my body,” let us be persuaded and believe, and look at it with the eyes of the mind.

For Christ has given us nothing that is of the senses; though it comes in things the senses perceive, all of it is to be grasped by the mind. So it is in baptism too: the gift is given through a thing of the senses, that is, through water, but what is done there is grasped by the mind — the birth, I mean, and the renewal. If you had been without a body, he would have given you these bodiless gifts bare. But because the soul is locked up in a body, he gives you the things the mind perceives in things the senses perceive.

How many people now say, “I wish I could see his form, his features, his clothes, his sandals!” Look! You see him, you touch him, you eat him. You long to see his clothes, but he gives himself to you — not only to see, but also to touch, and to eat, and to take within you.

So let no one come to it carelessly, no one faint-hearted, but all with burning hearts, all fervent, all wide awake. For if the Jews ate in haste, standing, with their sandals on and their staffs in their hands, you ought to be far more watchful. They were about to set out for Palestine, which is why they were dressed as travelers; but you are about to move to heaven.

So we must be alert in every way, for no small punishment is appointed for those who partake unworthily. [v]

Think how angry you are with the traitor, and with those who crucified him. Take care, then, that you too do not become guilty of the body and blood of Christ. They slaughtered that all-holy body; you receive it into a filthy soul after such great benefits. For it was not enough for him to become man, to be struck and slaughtered: he also mingles himself with us, and not by faith only, but in very fact makes us his body. What purity, then, should the one who enjoys the benefit of this sacrifice not surpass? What sunbeam should that hand not outshine in purity, the hand that is to divide this flesh — and the mouth that is filled with spiritual fire, and the tongue that is reddened by that most awe-inspiring blood? Think with what honor you have been honored, and at what kind of table you are sharing. What the angels tremble to behold, not daring even to look up at it freely because of the brightness that comes from it — on this we are fed, with this we are mingled, and we are made one body and one flesh with Christ. “Who will tell of the mighty works of the Lord, and make all his praises heard?” What shepherd feeds his sheep with his own limbs? And why do I say shepherd? There are often mothers who, after the labor of childbirth, send their children out to other women to be nursed. But he cannot bear to do this; he feeds us himself with his own blood, and in every way twines us together with himself.

Notice: he was born of our substance. “But,” you say, “that has nothing to do with everyone.” Yet it does concern everyone. For if he came into our nature, it is quite plain that he came to all; and if to all, then to each one. “Then how is it,” you say, “that not everyone reaped the benefit?” That was not his doing, for he chose to do this on behalf of all; it was the fault of those who were not willing.

He mingles himself with each one of the faithful in the mysteries. Those he has begotten he nourishes with himself, and does not put them out to another — by this, too, persuading you once more that he had taken your flesh. So let us not be careless, since we have been counted worthy of so much love and honor. Do you not see how eagerly infants seize the breast, with what longing they fasten their lips on the nipple? Let us come to this table, and to the nipple of the spiritual cup, in the same way. Or rather, let us draw out the grace of the Spirit with much more eagerness, like infants at the breast; let it be our one sorrow not to share in this food. What is set before us is not the work of human power. The one who did these things then, at that supper, is the same one who works them now. We hold the place of servants; the one who makes them holy and changes them is the same. So let no Judas be present, no greedy man. If anyone is not a disciple, let him withdraw; the table does not receive such people. For “I keep the Passover,” he says, “with my disciples.”

This table is the same as that one, and has nothing less. For it is not that Christ made that one and a man makes this one; he makes this one too. This is that upper room where they were then; and from here they went out to the Mount of Olives.

Let us, too, go out to the hands of the poor, for this place is the Mount of Olives. For the crowds of the poor are olive trees planted in the house of God, dripping the oil that will be useful to us there — the oil the five virgins had, while the others, who had not got it, perished for lack of it. Having taken this, let us go in, so that we may meet the bridegroom with bright lamps; having taken this, let us go out from here.

Let no inhuman person be present, no one cruel and merciless, no one unclean at all.

I say these things to you who receive, and to you who minister. For I must speak to you as well, so that you distribute the gifts there with great care. There is no small punishment for you if, knowing of some wickedness in a man, you let him share in this table. “His blood will be required at your hands.” Even if someone is a general, or a governor, or the very one who wears the diadem, and he comes unworthily, forbid him: the authority you have is greater than his. If you had been entrusted with keeping a spring of water clean for a flock, and then saw a sheep with a great deal of mud on its mouth, you would not let it stoop down to the spring and foul the stream. But now that you have been entrusted with a spring not of water but of blood and of spirit, if you see people coming to it with sin on them, which is worse than dirt and mud, are you not indignant? Do you not drive them off? And what excuse can you have? [y]

God has honored you with this honor for this very purpose, that you should judge these things. This is your office, this your safety, this your whole crown — not that you should go about dressed in a white and shining robe. “And how am I to know,” you may say, “this person and that one?” I am not speaking of those who are unknown, but of the notorious.

Shall I say something more fearful? It is not so terrible for those possessed by demons to be inside as for people like these, who, as Paul says, trample Christ underfoot, and “count the blood of the covenant unclean, and insult the grace of the Spirit.” For one who has fallen into sin and comes forward is worse than one possessed by a demon. Those who are possessed are not punished for it, because they are possessed; but these, when they come forward unworthily, are handed over to undying punishment. So let us drive away not only these, but all without exception whom we see coming unworthily.

Let no one partake who is not one of the disciples. Let no Judas receive, or he will suffer the fate of Judas. This multitude, too, is Christ’s body. So take care, you who serve at the mysteries, that you do not provoke the Lord by leaving this body unpurified. Do not hand out a sword instead of food. Even if it is out of ignorance that a man comes to partake, forbid him; do not be afraid. Fear God, not man. If you fear man, even he will laugh you to scorn; but if you fear God, you will be respected even by men.

But if you do not dare to do it yourself, bring him to me; I will not allow anyone to dare to do these things. I would give up my life rather than give the Lord’s blood to the unworthy; I will shed my own blood rather than give such awe-inspiring blood improperly.

But if someone has not recognized the wicked man after careful inquiry, he is not to blame. What I have said is about open sinners. For if we correct these, God will quickly reveal to us the unknown ones as well; but if we let these alone, why should he then bring to light those who are hidden?

I say these things not so that we only drive them away or cut them off, but so that we may correct them and bring them back and take care of them. For in this way we will have God gracious to us, and we will find many who receive worthily; and for our own diligence, and for our care for others, we will receive a great reward. May we all attain it, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen.