Homily 84 — Matthew 26, verses 51 to 56

“And look, one of those who were with Jesus stretched out his hand and drew his sword, and struck a servant of the high priest, and cut off his ear. Then Jesus said to him, ‘Put your sword back into its place, for all who take the sword will perish by the sword. Do you think that I cannot pray to the Father, and he will at once give me more than twelve legions of angels? How then would the Scriptures be fulfilled, that it must happen this way?’” [a]

Who was this “one” who cut off the ear? John says that it was Peter. For the act came from his fiery zeal.

But there is another point worth looking into: why were they carrying swords? That they were carrying them is clear not only from this, but also from their answer when they were asked: “Here are two.” But why did Christ even allow them to have swords? For Luke affirms this too, that he said to them, “When I sent you out without purse, and bag, and sandals, did you lack anything?” And when they said, “Nothing,” he said to them, “But now, whoever has a purse, let him take it, and a bag too; and whoever has no sword, let him sell his cloak and buy one.” And when they said, “Here are two swords,” he said to them, “It is enough.”

Why, then, did he let them have them? To assure them that he was going to be betrayed. That is why he says to them, “Let him buy a sword” — not so that they would arm themselves, far from it, but to point by this to his betrayal.

And why does he mention a bag as well? He was teaching them from then on to be sober and watchful, and to take great pains on their own part. At the beginning, since they were inexperienced, he took care of them with a great display of his power; but afterward, bringing them out like young birds from the nest, he tells them to use their own wings. Then, so that they would not suppose it was from weakness that he was leaving them alone when he told them to do their part too, he reminds them of what had gone before, saying, “When I sent you out without purse, did you lack anything?” In this way they would learn his power from both: from the way he had protected them, and from the way he was now leaving them to themselves little by little.

But where did the swords there come from? They had come straight from the supper and from the table. It is likely that there were swords there because of the lamb; and that the disciples, hearing that certain people were coming out against him, took them for defense, meaning to fight for their Teacher. But that was their own idea only. That is why Peter is rebuked for using his, and with a severe threat. For he was fighting against the servant who came, and warmly too; yet he was not defending himself, but doing it for his Teacher.

Christ, however, did not let any harm come of it. He healed the man, and worked a great miracle, enough to show at once both his own forbearance and his power, and the love and gentleness of his disciple. For then he acted out of love; now, out of obedience. For when he heard, “Put your sword into its sheath,” he obeyed at once, and never again does anything of the kind.

But another evangelist says that they also asked, “Shall we strike?” but that he forbade it, healed the man, rebuked his disciple, and threatened him, in order to bring him to obedience. “For all who take the sword,” he said, “will die by the sword.”

And he adds a reason, saying, “Do you think that I cannot pray to my Father, and he will at once give me more than twelve legions of angels? But it is so that the Scriptures may be fulfilled.” By these words he quenched their anger, showing that this was the will of the Scriptures too. That is also why he had prayed back there: so that they would accept calmly what happened to him, once they had learned that this too was being done by God’s will.

And he comforted them with two things. One was the punishment of those who were plotting against him: “For all who take the sword,” he says, “will perish by the sword.” The other was that he was not undergoing these things against his will: “For I can pray,” he says, “to my Father.” And why did he not say, “Do you think that I cannot destroy them all?” Because what he did say was more likely to be believed, since they did not yet have the right faith about him. Only a little while before, he had said, “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death,” and, “Father, let the cup pass from me”; and he had been seen in agony and sweating, and strengthened by an angel.

Since he had shown many marks of human nature, then, he was not likely to be believed if he had said, “Do you think that I cannot destroy them?” That is why he says, “What, do you think that I cannot pray to my Father?” And again he speaks modestly when he says, “He will at once give me twelve legions of angels.” For if one angel killed a hundred and eighty-five thousand armed men, what need was there of twelve legions against a thousand men? But he shapes his words to their fear and weakness, for they were dead with fright. That is also why he confronts them with the Scriptures, saying, “How then would the Scriptures be fulfilled?” — alarming them by this too. For if this is what the Scriptures approve, would you oppose it and fight against them?

That is what he says to his disciples. But to the others he says, “Have you come out as against a thief, with swords and clubs, to take me? I sat teaching in the temple every day, and you did not seize me.” [g]

See how many things he does that might wake them up. He threw them to the ground, he healed the servant’s ear, he threatened them with being killed — “For those who take the sword,” he says, “will perish by the sword.” By healing the ear he made these other things believable too. From every side, from things present and from things to come, he was showing his power, and showing that seizing him was not the work of their strength. That is why he also adds, “I was with you every day, sitting and teaching, and you did not seize me” — making it plain by this too that his arrest happened by his own permission. He passed over the miracles and mentions the teaching, so as not to seem to boast.

“When I taught, you did not seize me; now that I am silent, have you come out against me? I was in the temple, and no one laid hands on me; and now you come upon me late, at midnight, with swords and clubs? What need was there of these weapons against one who was with you all the time?” By these words he was teaching them that unless he had given himself up willingly, they would not have succeeded even then. They had not been able to hold him when they had him in their hands; they had had him in their midst and had not overpowered him. So neither could they have succeeded now, unless he had been willing.

Then he also clears up the question of why he chose to be taken at that time: “All this was done,” he says, “that the Scriptures of the prophets might be fulfilled.” See how, even to the last hour, in the very act of being betrayed, he did everything for their correction — healing, prophesying, threatening. “For they will perish by the sword,” he says. To show that he suffers willingly, he says, “I was with you every day, teaching.” To show that he is in full agreement with the Father, he adds, “That the Scriptures of the prophets might be fulfilled.”

But why did they not seize him in the temple? Because they would not have dared to in the temple, on account of the people. That is why he went outside, giving them a safe opportunity by both the place and the time, and taking away their excuse even to the last hour. For how could one who gave up even himself in order to obey the prophets have taught anything contrary to them?

“Then all his disciples,” it says, “left him and fled.” When he was seized, they stayed; but when he had said these things to the crowds, they fled. For from then on they saw that escape was no longer possible, since he was giving himself up to them willingly and saying that this was happening according to the Scriptures.

And when they had fled, “they led him away to Caiaphas; but Peter followed, and went in to see how it would end.” Great was the disciple’s zeal. He did not flee when he saw the others fleeing, but held his ground and went in with him. And if John did the same, still he was “known to the high priest.”

And why did they lead him away to the place where they were all assembled? So that they could do everything with the consent of the chief priests. For Caiaphas was high priest at that time, and everyone was waiting for Christ there — so fully did they spend the whole night and give up their sleep for this. They did not even eat the Passover then, but stayed awake for this other purpose. For John, after saying that “it was early,” added, “they did not enter the governor’s headquarters, so that they would not be defiled, but might eat the Passover.”

What must we say, then? That they ate it on another day and broke the law, out of their eagerness for this murder. Christ would not have broken the rule about the time of the Passover; it was they who did, men who dared anything and trampled on a thousand laws. They were boiling over with rage, and though they had often tried to seize him, they had not been able; so now that they had taken him unexpectedly, they chose even to pass over the Passover, to glut their lust for murder.

That is why they were all gathered together. It was a council of public pests, and they ask some questions, wanting to give this plot the look of a court of justice. For “their testimonies did not agree” — so false was that court of justice, and everything was full of confusion and disorder.

“But false witnesses came and said, ‘This man said, I will destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it.’” And he had indeed said “in three days”; but he did not say “I will destroy,” but “Destroy”; and he said it not about that temple but about his own body.

What does the high priest do then? Wanting to push him into making a defense, so that he could catch him by it, he says, “Do you not hear what these men testify against you?” But he kept silent. Any attempt at a defense was useless, since no one was listening. This was only the show of a court of justice; in truth it was an attack of robbers, falling on him for no reason, as if in a cave or on a road.

So “he kept silent.” But the other went on, saying, “I put you under oath by the living God to tell us whether you are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” “He said, ‘You have said so. Nevertheless I tell you, from now on you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds.’ Then the high priest tore his clothes, saying, ‘He has spoken blasphemy.’” He did this to add force to the accusation, and to make what Jesus had said seem worse by what he did. Since the words that had been spoken struck the hearers with fear, the high priest does here what they did in the case of Stephen, when they stopped their ears.

And yet what kind of blasphemy was this? Earlier, when they were gathered together, he had said, “The Lord said to my Lord, Sit at my right hand,” and had explained the saying; and they dared say nothing, but kept silent, and from that time on never contradicted him again. Why then did they now call the saying blasphemy? And why did Christ answer them this way? To take away all their excuse. For to the very last day he taught that he was the Christ, that he sits at the right hand of the Father, and that he will come again to judge the world; and that was the language of one showing his full agreement with the Father. [l]

So, having torn his clothes, the high priest says, “What do you think?” He does not give the sentence himself, but calls for it from them, as though the offense were admitted and the blasphemy plain. For they knew that if the matter were examined and carefully decided, it would clear him of all blame. So they condemn him among themselves, and get in ahead of the hearers by saying, “You have heard the blasphemy” — all but compelling and forcing them to pronounce the sentence. What do they say, then?

“He deserves death.” Their aim was that, having taken him as a man already condemned, they could then work on Pilate to pass sentence. And the others, being accomplices in this, say, “He deserves death.” They are themselves the accusers, themselves the judges, themselves the ones who pass sentence; they are themselves everything at once.

But why did they not bring up the Sabbaths? Because he had often shut their mouths about them; and besides, they wanted to take him and condemn him for what was said then. And the high priest got in ahead of them and gave the sentence as though it came from them, drew them all along by tearing his robes, and, leading him off to Pilate as one already condemned, so carried the whole thing through.

Before Pilate, at any rate, they said nothing of this kind. What did they say? “If this man were not an evildoer, we would not have handed him over to you” — trying to have him put to death on political charges. And why did they not kill him secretly? They wanted also to blacken his name. Many had now heard him, and were admiring him and amazed at him; so they tried to have him put to death publicly, in front of everyone.

But Christ did not prevent it. He made full use of their wickedness to establish the truth, so that his death would be known to all. And the result was the opposite of what they wanted. They wanted to make a show of it, thinking to disgrace him in this way; but by these very things he shone out all the more. They had said, “Let us put him to death, so that the Romans will not come and take away our place and our nation”; and after they had put him to death, that very thing happened. So it was here too: their aim was to crucify him publicly in order to damage his reputation, and the opposite came about.

To prove that they did indeed have the power to put him to death even among themselves, hear what Pilate says: “Take him yourselves, and judge him according to your law.” But they would not, so that he might seem to have been put to death as a lawbreaker, as a usurper, as a stirrer-up of revolt. That is why they also crucified thieves with him; that is why they also said, “Do not write, ‘This man is King of the Jews,’ but that he said it.” But all these things happen for the sake of the truth, so that they would be left without even the shadow of a defense — none, at least, that was not plainly shameless. At the tomb, too, in the same way, the seals and the guards made the truth all the more conspicuous; and the mocking, the jeering, and the insults worked this same effect again.

For such is the nature of error: it is destroyed by the very things by which it plots. That, at least, is how it turned out here. Those who seemed to have won were the very ones who were most of all put to shame, defeated, and ruined; but he who seemed to be defeated is the one who above all has shone out and won a mighty victory.

So let us not seek victory everywhere, or shun defeat everywhere. There are times when victory does harm and defeat does good. Take people who are angry, for example. The one who has raged most violently seems to have won; but he above all is the one who has been overcome and harmed by the most painful of passions. The one who has borne it nobly is the one who has come out on top and won. The first has not had the strength to overcome even his own sickness; the second has removed another man’s. The one has been beaten by his own passion; the other has mastered even another man’s. Far from being burned up himself, he put out the flame of another when it had blazed up high. But if he had set his mind on winning what looks like victory, he would have been beaten himself; by inflaming the other, he would have made him suffer this all the worse; and like women, both the one and the other would have been disgracefully and miserably thrown down by their anger. As it is, the one who exercised self-control is free from this disgrace, and has set up a glorious trophy over anger, both in himself and in his neighbor, through his honorable defeat.

So let us not seek victory everywhere. The man who has cheated another has beaten the one he wronged, but with an evil victory, one that brings ruin on the man who won it. But the one who is wronged and seems to have been beaten, if he has borne it with self-control, is above all the one who wears the crown. Often it is better to be beaten, and this is the best way to win. For whether someone cheats you, or strikes you, or envies you, the one who is beaten and does not enter the fight is the one who wins. [p]

And why do I speak of cheating and envy? The one who is dragged off to martyrdom also wins in this way: by being bound, and beaten, and maimed, and killed. What in war is defeat — for the fighter to fall — is victory with us. Nowhere do we win by doing wrong, but everywhere by suffering wrong. And so the victory becomes more glorious, when we who suffer overcome those who do the harm. This shows that the victory is God’s. For it is the very opposite in nature of outward victory, and that above all is a sure sign of its strength. So too the rocks in the sea break the waves by being struck. So too all the saints were proclaimed and crowned, and set up their glorious trophies, winning this peaceful victory. For he says: “Do not stir yourself up, and do not wear yourself out. God has given you this power: to win not by fighting but by enduring alone. Do not set yourself against him as he does against you, and you have won. Do not fight, and you have gained the crown. Why disgrace yourself? Do not let him say that you got the better of him by fighting; let him be amazed and marvel at your unconquerable power, and tell everyone that you won without even entering the fight.”

So too the blessed Joseph won a good name, everywhere overcoming those who wronged him by suffering the wrong. His brothers and the Egyptian woman were among those plotting against him, but he prevailed over them all. Do not tell me about the prison where he lived, or the royal halls where she lived. Show me who is conquered, who is defeated, who is downcast, and who is glad. Far from being able to prevail over the righteous man, she could not master even her own passion; but he prevailed both over her and over that grievous disease. If you like, hear her own words, and you will see the trophy: “You brought a Hebrew servant in to us here to mock us.” It was not this man who mocked you, you wretched and unhappy woman, but the devil, who told you that you could break down a diamond. It was not your husband who brought a Hebrew servant in to you to plot against you; it was the wicked spirit who brought in that unclean lust. He was the one who mocked you.

What, then, did Joseph do? He kept silent, and so he is condemned, just as Christ is too. For all those things are types of these. He was in chains, and she in the royal halls. But what of that? He was more glorious than any crowned victor, even while he stayed in his chains; she was in a more wretched state than any prisoner, while she stayed in the royal chambers. And it is not only from this that one can see the victory and the defeat, but from the outcome itself. Which of them achieved what they wanted? Was it not the prisoner, rather than the high-born lady? He strove to keep his chastity; she strove to destroy it. Which of them, then, achieved what they wanted: the one who suffered wrong, or the one who did it? It is quite plain that it was the one who suffered. Surely, then, he is the one who has won.

Knowing these things, then, let us pursue this victory, the one that is won by suffering wrong, and let us flee from the one that is gained by doing wrong. For so we will live this present life in all calm and great quiet, and will attain the good things to come, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and power forever and ever. Amen.