Homily 83 — Matthew 26, verses 36 to 50

“Then Jesus comes with them to a place called Gethsemane, and says to the disciples, ‘Sit here while I go over there and pray.’ And he took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be sorrowful and deeply distressed. Then he says to them, ‘My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even to death. Stay here and keep watch with me.’” [a]

Because they clung to him and would not leave his side, he says, “Stay here while I go away and pray.” It was his custom to pray apart from them. And he did this to teach us that when we pray we should make silence for ourselves and withdraw far from everything.

He takes the three with him and says to them, “My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even to death.” Why does he not take them all? So that they would not be cast down. He takes these three, who had seen his glory. Yet even these he leaves behind: “And he went a little farther and prayed, saying, ‘Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not as I will, but as you will.’ And he comes to them and finds them sleeping, and says to Peter, ‘What, could you not keep watch with me one hour? Watch and pray, so that you do not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.’”

It is not without reason that he comes down hardest on Peter, though the others had slept as well. He wanted to make Peter feel it by this too, for the reason I mentioned before. Then, because the others had said the same thing — for when Peter had said, and these are the words, “Even if I must die with you, I will not deny you,” the Gospel adds, “And all the disciples said the same” — he speaks to them all, showing them their weakness. They who wanted to die with him could not then so much as stay awake and grieve with him; sleep overcame them.

He prays with great earnestness, so that the thing would not look like playacting. And sweat pours from him for the same reason again, so that the heretics could not say that he was only acting out his agony. That is why there is a sweat like drops of blood, and an angel appeared strengthening him, and a thousand sure signs of fear, so that no one could claim the words were feigned. This too was why he prayed this prayer. By saying, “If it is possible, let it pass from me,” he showed his humanity. But by saying, “Yet not as I will, but as you will,” he showed his virtue and his self-mastery, teaching us to follow God even when our nature pulls us back.

For since it was not enough for the foolish that he showed it in his face alone, he uses words as well. And again, words alone were not enough; deeds were needed too. These also he joins to the words, so that even the most contentious might believe that he both became man and died. For if, even with all this, some still disbelieve it, how much more would they have done so if these things had not been! See by how many things he shows the reality of the incarnation: by what he says and by what he suffers.

After that he comes and says to Peter, as the Gospel tells it, “What, could you not keep watch with me one hour?” All were sleeping, yet he rebukes Peter, hinting at him in what he said. And the words “with me” are not used without reason. It is as though he had said: “You could not keep watch with me for one hour, and will you lay down your life for me?” And what follows points to this very same thing. “Watch,” he says, “and pray, so that you do not enter into temptation.” See how he is again teaching them not to be confident in themselves, but to be humble and bruised in heart, and to refer everything to God.

At one time he speaks to Peter, at another to all of them together. To Peter he says, “Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to have you, to sift you like wheat; but I have prayed for you.” And to all of them together, “Pray that you do not enter into temptation.” In every way he is rooting out their self-will and making them earnest. Then, so that his words would not seem wholly condemning, he says, “The spirit indeed is ready, but the flesh is weak.” For even if you want to despise death, you will not be able to until God stretches out his hand; the mind of the flesh drags you down.

And again he prayed in the same way, saying, “Father, if this cannot pass from me unless I drink it, your will be done.” Here he shows that he is in full harmony with God’s will, and that we must always follow that will and seek after it.

“And he came and found them asleep.” Besides the lateness of the night, their eyes were weighed down by their dejection. And the third time he went away and said the same thing, establishing that he had truly become man. For in the Scriptures a second and a third time is above all a sign of truth. So Joseph said to Pharaoh, “Did the dream appear to you a second time? It was done for truth’s sake, so that you might be assured that this will surely happen.” That is why he too said the same thing once, twice, and three times: to prove the incarnation.

And why did he come the second time? To reprove them for being so sunk in dejection that they had no sense even of his presence. Yet he did not reprove them, but stood a little apart from them, showing their unspeakable weakness: not even after they had been rebuked could they hold out. He does not wake them and rebuke them again, so as not to strike those who were already stricken. He went away and prayed, and when he comes back again, he says, “Sleep on now, and take your rest.”

And yet there was need to be awake then. But he says it to show that they will not bear even the sight of the dangers, but will be put to flight and desert him in their terror; that he has no need of their help; and that he must by all means be handed over. “Sleep on now,” he says, “and take your rest. Look, the hour is at hand, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners.” He shows again that what is being done belongs to God’s own arrangement.

But he does not do only this. By saying, “into the hands of sinners,” he also cheers their minds, showing that what was happening was the work of those men’s wickedness, not the result of any guilt of his own. [h]

“Rise, let us be going. Look, the one who betrays me is at hand.” In every way he taught them that the matter was not one of necessity or of weakness, but of some hidden arrangement. For, as we see, he knew beforehand that Judas would come, and far from running away, he even went out to meet him. At any rate, “While he was still speaking, look, Judas, one of the twelve, came, and with him a great crowd with swords and clubs, from the chief priests and elders of the people.” Fine instruments for priests, these! With swords and clubs they come against him!

And Judas, it says, was with them, one of the twelve. Again the evangelist calls him “one of the twelve,” and is not ashamed to. “Now the one who betrayed him had given them a sign, saying, ‘Whoever I kiss, that is the man; hold him fast.’” Oh, what depravity the traitor’s soul had taken in! With what eyes did he look at his Master then? With what mouth did he kiss him? Oh, accursed purpose! What did he plot? What did he dare? What kind of signal of betrayal did he give? “Whoever I kiss,” he says. He took courage from his Master’s gentleness — the very thing that, more than anything, should have been enough to shame him and strip him of every excuse, since he was betraying one so gentle.

But why does he say this? Because often, when they had seized him, he had gone out through the middle of them without their knowing it. And the same would have happened then too, had it not been his own will to be taken. It was at least to teach them this that he blinded their eyes then and himself asked, “Whom are you looking for?” And they did not recognize him, though they had lanterns and torches and had Judas with them. Then, when they had said, “Jesus,” he says, “I am he” whom you are looking for. And here again: “Friend, why have you come?”

For after showing his own strength, he gave himself up at once. But John says that even up to that very moment he kept rebuking Judas, saying, “Judas, are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?” As if to say: “Are you not ashamed even of the form your betrayal takes?” Still, since not even this checked him, he let himself be kissed and gave himself up willingly. And they laid their hands on him and seized him on the very night they ate the Passover, so fiercely were they boiling with rage and madness. Yet they would have had no strength at all had he not let them. But this does not free Judas from unbearable punishment. It condemns him all the more, because after receiving such proof of Christ’s power, his forbearance, his gentleness and his mildness, he became fiercer than any wild beast.

Knowing these things, then, let us flee from greed. That was what drove him to madness then. It trains those it captures in the most extreme cruelty and inhumanity. For when it makes them give up hope of their own salvation, much more does it make them disregard the salvation of everyone else. And this passion is such a tyrant that sometimes it overpowers even the fiercest lust. That is exactly why I am so deeply ashamed: many, to spare their money, have indeed bridled their unchastity, but for the fear of Christ they would not live chastely and soberly.

So I say it again: let us flee from it. I will never stop saying this. Why, man, do you pile up gold? Why do you make your slavery more bitter, your sleepless nights more wearing, your anxiety more painful? Count as your own the metals buried in the mines, and those in the palaces of kings. Even if you had that whole heap, you would only guard it and would not use it. For if you do not use what you have now, but keep your hands off it as though it belonged to someone else, much more would that be so if you had more. That is the way of the greedy: the more they heap up around themselves, the more sparing they are with it.

But you say: “I know that these things are mine.” Then your possession lies only in supposing, not in enjoying. You say again: “But I would be someone people fear.” No; by this you would become an easier prey for rich and poor alike, for robbers and false accusers and servants, and in general for everyone who has a mind to plot against you. If you want to be feared, cut off the openings through which those who have set their hearts on your goods can lay hold of you and hurt you. Have you not heard the proverb that says not even a hundred men gathered together can strip a poor and naked man? His poverty is his greatest protection, and not even the king will ever be able to overpower it and take it.

Everyone joins in harassing the greedy man. And why do I say people, when moths and worms make war on such a man? And why do I speak of moths? Time alone, even when no one troubles him, is enough to do such a man the greatest harm. [m]

What, then, is the pleasure of wealth? I see its discomforts; you tell me its pleasure. You ask: “And what are its discomforts?” Anxieties, plots, enmities, hatred, fear; to be always thirsting and always in pain. If someone were to embrace a young woman he loves but could not satisfy his desire, he would suffer the worst torment. So it is with the rich man. He has plenty, and he holds it in his arms, but he cannot satisfy all his desire. What happens to him is what a certain wise man describes: “The lust of a eunuch to deflower a virgin,” and, “Like a eunuch who embraces a virgin and groans.” So are all the rich.

Why speak of the other things? How such a man is disliked by everyone: by his servants, his laborers, his neighbors, those who handle public affairs, those he has wronged and those he has not, by his wife most of all, and by his children more than anyone. For he does not bring them up as human beings, but more miserably than menials and slaves bought with money. He brings about countless occasions of anger, vexation, insult and ridicule against himself, and is put on show as a common laughingstock to all. These, then, are the discomforts, and perhaps more than these; for no one could ever go through them all in words, but experience can set them before us.

But tell me the pleasure that comes from it. He says: “I seem to be rich, and I am reputed to be rich.” And what kind of pleasure is there in that reputation? It is a very great name for envy. I say a name, because wealth is only a name, empty of reality.

He says: “Yet the rich man indulges and delights himself in this very notion.” He delights in the things he ought to grieve over. He asks: “Grieve? Why?” Because this makes him useless for every purpose, and cowardly and unmanly in the face of both exile and death; for to him such a loss is double, since he longs for his money more than for the light of day. Such a man takes no delight even in heaven, because it bears no gold, nor in the sun, because it does not send out golden rays.

Someone says: “But there are some who do enjoy what they have, living in luxury, gluttony and drunkenness, and spending lavishly.” You are telling me of people worse than the first. These last above all are the ones who get no enjoyment. The first at least keeps away from other evils, being bound to one love. These others are worse than they, for besides what we have said, they bring a crowd of cruel masters in upon themselves. Every day they serve the belly, lust, drunkenness and every other kind of excess, as so many cruel tyrants: keeping prostitutes, preparing costly feasts, buying hangers-on and flatterers, turning aside to unnatural lusts, and entangling body and soul in the thousand diseases that spring from all this.

For they do not spend their goods on what they need, but on ruining the body, and on ruining the soul along with it. They act like someone who, while decking out his body, thinks he is spending his money on his own needs.

So only the one who uses his wealth for a proper end enjoys pleasure and is master of his goods. These others are slaves and captives, for they make both the passions of the body and the diseases of the soul worse. What kind of enjoyment is this, where there is siege and war, and a storm worse than all the raging of the sea? If wealth finds men foolish, it makes them more foolish; if dissolute, more dissolute.

You will say: “And what use is understanding to the poor man?” Naturally you do not know; the blind man does not know the advantage of light either. Listen to Solomon, who says, “As far as light excels darkness, so wisdom excels folly.”

But how shall we teach someone who is in darkness? For the love of money is darkness. It lets nothing appear as it is, but only otherwise. A man in darkness, even if he sees a golden vessel, or a precious stone, or purple garments, thinks they are nothing, because he does not see their beauty. In the same way the one who is in the grip of greed does not know, as he should, the beauty of the things truly worth our care. So scatter, I beg you, the fog that rises from this passion, and then you will see things as they really are.

And nowhere do these things appear so plainly as in poverty; nowhere are the things that seem to be, and are not, so thoroughly exposed as in a life of self-denial.

But how foolish men are! They even curse the poor, and say that poverty disgraces both a house and a way of living, confusing everything. What, I ask you, is a disgrace to a house? That it has no ivory couch and no silver vessels, but everything in it is earthenware and wood? No, this is a house’s greatest glory and distinction. For being indifferent to worldly things often lets a man spend all his leisure on the care of his soul. [q]

So when you see great care lavished on outward things, then be ashamed at how unseemly it is. The houses of the rich are the ones that most lack seemliness. When you see tables covered with hangings and couches inlaid with silver, just as in the theater, just as in a stage show, what could be more unseemly than that? Which house is most like the stage and the things on the stage: the rich man’s or the poor man’s? Is it not quite plain that it is the rich man’s? That house, then, is full of unseemliness. Which house is most like Paul’s, or Abraham’s? It is quite plain that it is the poor man’s. This house, then, is the best adorned and the one to be approved.

And so that you may learn that this above all is the adornment of a house, go into the house of Zacchaeus, and learn how he adorned it when Christ was about to enter. He did not run to his neighbors begging for curtains and seats and ivory chairs, nor did he bring Laconian hangings out of his storerooms. He adorned it with an adornment fitting for Christ. What was it? “Half of my goods I will give to the poor,” he says, “and if I have robbed anyone, I will restore it fourfold.” Let us too adorn our houses this way, so that Christ may come in to us as well. These are the beautiful curtains; these are made in heaven and woven there. Where these are, the King of heaven is there too. But if you adorn your house some other way, you are inviting the devil and his company.

He came also into the house of Matthew the tax collector. And what did this man do? He first adorned himself, by his readiness, and by leaving everything and following Christ.

So too Cornelius adorned his house with prayers and alms, and that is why to this day it shines brighter than the palace itself. What makes a house mean is not vessels lying in disorder, or an untidy bed, or walls black with smoke, but the wickedness of those who live in it. Christ shows this: into such a house, if the one living there is virtuous, he is not ashamed to come; but into that other, though it has a golden roof, he will never come. So this one is more splendid than the palace, because it receives the Lord of all, while that one, with its golden roof and columns, is like filthy drains and sewers, for it holds the devil’s vessels.

But we have said these things not about those who are rich for a good purpose, but about the grasping and the greedy. Among these there is no diligence or care about necessary things, but only about pampering the belly, and drunkenness, and other such unseemliness; with the others, the care is for self-restraint. That is why Christ never went into a splendid house, but into the houses of the tax collector, the chief tax collector and the fisherman, passing by the palaces of kings and those who are dressed in soft clothing.

If, then, you too want to invite him, deck your house with alms, with prayers, with petitions, with night vigils. These are the decorations of Christ the King; those others are the decorations of mammon, the enemy of Christ. So let no one be ashamed of a humble house if it has this furniture. And let no rich man pride himself on having a costly house; let him rather hide his face and seek this other house, leaving that one behind, so that here he may receive Christ, and there enjoy the eternal dwellings, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and power forever and ever. Amen.