Homily 88 — Matthew 27, verses 45 to 61

“Now from the sixth hour there was darkness over all the earth until the ninth hour. And about the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, ‘Eli, Eli, lima sabachthani?’ that is, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ Some of those who stood there, when they heard it, said, ‘This man is calling for Elijah.’ And at once one of them ran, took a sponge, filled it with vinegar, put it on a reed, and gave him a drink.” [a]

This is the sign he had promised earlier to give them when they asked for one. He said, “An evil and adulterous generation seeks a sign, and no sign will be given to it except the sign of the prophet Jonah” — meaning his cross, his death, his burial, and his resurrection. And again, showing the power of the cross in another way, he said, “When you have lifted up the Son of Man, then you will know that I am he.” What he means is this: “When you have crucified me, and think you have beaten me, then above all you will know my might.”

For after the crucifixion the city was destroyed and the Jewish state came to an end. They lost their way of life and their freedom. The good news flourished, and the word spread to the ends of the world; sea and land, the inhabited earth and the desert, all proclaim its power without ceasing. These are the things he means, and also the things that happened at the very time of the crucifixion. And indeed it was far more wonderful that these things should be done while he was nailed to the cross than while he was walking the earth. [b]

Nor was that the only wonder. What they had asked for was now done from heaven, and it covered the whole world. That had never happened before, except in Egypt alone, when the Passover was about to be kept. And indeed those events were a type of these.

And notice when it happened: at midday, so that all who live on the earth might know it, when it was day all over the world. That was enough to turn them, not only by the greatness of the miracle but also by its coming at just the right time. For it came after all their insults and their lawless mockery — when they had let go their anger, when they had stopped mocking, when they had had their fill of jeering and had said everything they meant to say. Then he shows the darkness, so that at least then, with their anger spent, they might profit by the miracle. For this was more wonderful than coming down from the cross: that while he was on the cross he should do these things. If they thought he himself had done it, they ought to have believed and been afraid. If they thought it was not he but the Father, even so they ought to have been pierced with sorrow, for that darkness was a sign of his anger at their crime.

That it was not an eclipse, but wrath and indignation, is clear not only from this but also from the time. It lasted three hours, while an eclipse is over in a moment, as those who have seen one know — and one has in fact taken place even in our own generation.

“Then how is it,” you may say, “that not everyone wondered at it and counted him to be God?” Because the human race at that time was held fast in great carelessness and vice. And this was only one miracle, and once it had happened it passed away at once. No one cared to look into its cause, and the prejudice and the habit of ungodliness were strong. They did not know the cause of what had happened, and perhaps they thought it came about in the ordinary way, as an eclipse or some natural event. And why are you surprised at the outsiders, who knew nothing and in their great indifference did not even ask, when even the people in Judea itself, after so many miracles, still went on treating him with contempt — though he plainly showed them that he himself had done this?

And this is why he speaks even after it: so that they might learn that he was still alive and that he himself had done it, and so that by this too they might become gentler. He says, “Eli, Eli, lima sabachthani?” so that to his last breath they might see that he honors his Father and is no enemy of God. That is why he uttered a cry from the prophet, bearing witness to the Old Testament even to his last hour. And not simply a cry from the prophet, but in Hebrew, so that it would be plain and understandable to them. In every way he shows that he is of one mind with the one who begot him. [f]

But notice here also their insolence, their lack of self-control, and their folly. They thought, we are told, that it was Elijah he was calling, and at once they gave him vinegar to drink. But another came to him and “pierced his side with a spear.” What could be more lawless, what more brutal, than these men, who carried their madness so far that at the last they insulted even a dead body?

But notice, I beg you, how he used their wicked deeds for our salvation. For after that blow the fountains of our salvation gushed out from there. [h]

“And Jesus, when he had cried out with a loud voice, yielded up his spirit.” This is what he meant when he said, “I have power to lay down my life, and I have power to take it again,” and, “I lay it down of myself.” That is why he cried out with his voice: to show that the act was done by power. Mark, at any rate, says that “Pilate wondered whether he was already dead,” and that the centurion believed above all for this reason, that he died with power.

This cry tore the curtain, opened the tombs, and left the house desolate. He did this not to insult the temple — for how could he, who says, “Do not make my Father’s house a house of trade”? — but to declare them unworthy even to have him stay there, just as when he handed it over to the Babylonians. Yet these things were not done for that reason only. What happened was also a prophecy of the desolation to come and of the change to the greater and higher state, and a sign of his might.

Along with these, he showed himself also by what followed: the raising of the dead. In Elisha’s case, a man rose again on touching a dead body; but now he raised them by a voice, while his own body stayed up there on the cross. And besides, those earlier things were a type of this; it was so that this might be believed that all that was done. And they are not merely raised: the rocks are split too, and the earth is shaken, so that they might learn that he was able to strike them blind and tear them to pieces. For he who split rocks apart and darkened the world could far more easily have done these things to them, had he willed it. But he would not. He spent his wrath on the elements, and them he willed to save by kindness.

But they did not let up in their madness. Such is envy, such is jealousy: it is not easily stopped. At that time, then, they shamelessly set themselves against what they could see; and afterward even against the facts themselves. When a seal had been put on him and soldiers were guarding him, he rose again, and they heard it from the very guards; and they even paid money, both to corrupt others and to steal away the story of the resurrection.

So do not be surprised if at this time too they were perverse, when they were so thoroughly ready to set themselves shamelessly against everything. But notice this other point: how great the signs were that he worked — some from heaven, some on earth, some in the very temple — at once marking his indignation and at the same time showing that what had been unapproachable could now be entered, that heaven would be opened, and that the work was being moved to the true Holy of Holies. [l]

They said, “If he is the King of Israel, let him come down now from the cross”; but he shows that he is King of all the world. And where those men said, “You who destroy this temple and build it in three days,” he shows that it will be made desolate forever. Again they said, “He saved others; himself he cannot save”; but while remaining on the cross he proved it most abundantly on the bodies of his servants. For if it was a great thing for Lazarus to rise on the fourth day, how much greater for all those who had fallen asleep long ago to appear alive at once! That was a sign of the resurrection to come. For “many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep arose,” it says, “and went into the holy city, and appeared to many.” They appear in the city, and to many, so that what was done might not be taken for an imagination.

And the centurion too glorified God then, saying, “Truly this was a righteous man.” “And the crowds who had come together for that sight went home beating their breasts.” So great was the power of the Crucified that after so many mockeries and sneers and jeers, both the centurion and the people were pierced with sorrow. And some say that there is also an account of this centurion’s martyrdom — that after these events he grew to full maturity in the faith.

“And many women were there watching from a distance, who had followed him, serving him: Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James and Joses, and the mother of Zebedee’s sons.” [p]

These are the women who see all this done — the ones most inclined to feel for him, who were mourning him most of all. And notice how devoted they were. They had followed him, serving him, and they stayed with him even through the time of danger. That is why they saw everything: how he cried out, how he gave up his spirit, how the rocks were split, and all the rest. And these are the first to see Jesus. The sex that was most condemned is the first to enjoy the sight of the blessings; it shows the most courage. When the disciples had fled, these women were there. But who were they? His mother — for she is called the mother of James — and the others.

Another evangelist says that many also mourned over what was done and beat their breasts. That above all shows the cruelty of the Jews: they gloried in the very things others were mourning, and were neither moved by pity nor held back by fear. For what was done came from great wrath. These were not merely signs; they were all signs of anger — the darkness, the split rocks, the curtain torn down the middle, the shaking of the earth — and the indignation was great beyond measure.

“But Joseph went and asked for the body.” This was the Joseph who until lately had kept his discipleship hidden; but now, after Christ’s death, he had become very bold. He was no obscure man, not one who went unnoticed, but a member of the council and highly distinguished — and that is exactly what lets you see his courage. He exposed himself to death, taking on the hatred of everyone by his affection for Jesus, both in daring to ask for the body and in not giving up until he got it. And he shows his love and his courage not only by taking it, and not only by burying it at great cost, but also by laying it in his own new tomb. Nor was this arranged without purpose: it was so that there could not be even the bare suspicion that one man had risen in place of another. [q]

“And Mary Magdalene was there, and the other Mary, sitting opposite the tomb.” Why do these women wait beside it? They did not yet know anything great and lofty about him, as they should have. That is why they had brought ointments and were waiting at the tomb, so that if the madness of the Jews should slacken, they might go and embrace the body. Do you see the women’s courage? Do you see their affection? Do you see their greatness of spirit with their money? Their greatness of spirit even to the point of death?

Let us men imitate the women. Let us not forsake Jesus in trials. For they spent so much on him, even when he was dead, and risked their lives; but we — for again I say the same things — neither feed him when he is hungry nor clothe him when he is naked, but we see him begging and pass him by. And yet if you saw him himself, every one of you would strip himself of all his goods. But even now it is the same. For he himself has said, “I am he.” Then why do you not strip yourself of everything? For even now you hear him say, “You are doing it to me”; and there is no difference whether you give to this man or to him. You have nothing less than those women who fed him then — in fact, much more. [s]

But do not be puzzled. It is not as great a thing to have fed him when he appeared in his own person — which would be enough to win over a heart of stone — as to care for the poor, the crippled, the man bent double, simply because of his word. In the first case, the sight and the dignity of the one who appears share with you the credit for what is done. But here the reward for your kindness is yours entire. And this is the proof of greater reverence toward him: when, at his bare word, you care for your fellow servant and refresh him in every way. Refresh him, and believe the one who receives it and says, “You are giving to me.” For unless you had been giving to him, he would not have counted you worthy of a kingdom. If you had merely overlooked some chance person, and had not turned away from him, he would not have sent you to hell; but because it is he himself who is despised, the blame is great.

So Paul too persecuted him, in persecuting those who are his; that is why he said, “Why are you persecuting me?” Let us feel the same way, then, and know that when we give, we are giving to Christ himself. For his words are more certain than our eyes. So when you see a poor man, remember his words, by which he declared that it is he himself who is fed. Even if what you see is not Christ, yet in this man’s form it is Christ himself who receives and begs. [t]

But are you ashamed to hear that Christ begs? Be ashamed rather when you do not give to him when he begs from you. That is the shame; that is the vengeance and the punishment. For him to beg comes from his goodness, and so we ought even to glory in it; but for you not to give comes from your inhumanity. And if you do not believe now that in passing by a poor man who is a believer you pass by him, you will believe it then, when he brings you into the middle of everyone and says, “Insofar as you did not do it to these, you did not do it to me.” But God forbid that we should learn it that way! May he grant instead that we believe now and bear fruit, and hear that most blessed voice that brings us into the kingdom.

But perhaps someone will say, “You are talking to us every day about almsgiving and kindness to others.” And I will not stop speaking of it. Even if you had attained it, I ought not to stop even then, for fear of making you slacker. Still, had you attained it, I might have let up a little. But if you have not got even halfway, do not say these things to me; say them to yourselves. For in blaming me you are doing the same as a little child who hears the letter alpha over and over and does not learn it, and then blames his teacher for reminding him of it constantly, forever. [u]

For who has become any more eager to give alms because of these sermons? Who has thrown down his money? Who has given half of what he owns? Who a third? No one. How then can it be anything but absurd for you to demand that we stop teaching, when you do not learn? You ought to do the opposite. Even if we were minded to stop, you ought to stop us and say, “We have not learned these things yet; how is it that you have stopped reminding us of them?”

Suppose someone were suffering from his eye, and I happened to be a physician. Suppose I had bandaged it and anointed it and given it other treatment, but had not done it much good, and so had stopped. Would he not have come to the door of my clinic and cried out against me, accusing me of great slackness for withdrawing of my own accord while the disease remained? And if, when blamed, I had answered that I had bandaged it and anointed it, would he have put up with that? Not at all. He would at once have said, “And what good is that, if I am still in pain?” Reason the same way about your soul.

And what if, after often bathing a hand that was lifeless and shriveled with warm compresses, I had not managed to soften it? Would I not have heard the same thing? And now too we are bathing a hand that is shriveled and withered, and for that reason we will not stop until we can stretch it out completely. I wish you too would talk of nothing else, at home and in the marketplace, at table and at night, and in your dreams. For if we cared about these things all day long, we would be busy with them even in our dreams.

What do you say? That I am forever speaking of almsgiving? I would wish myself that there were no great need for me to give you this advice, and that I could speak of the battle against the Jews and the pagans and the heretics. But when you are not yet healthy, how can anyone arm you for the fight? How could he lead you into the battle line while you still have wounds and gashes? If I saw you thoroughly healthy, I would lead you out into that battle line, and by the grace of Christ you would see tens of thousands lying dead, their heads heaped one upon another. In other books, at any rate, we have spoken many discourses on these things, but even so we cannot win the victory outright, because of the slackness of the many. For when we defeat them ten thousand times over in matters of doctrine, they throw in our faces the lives of the mass of those who join our congregations — their wounds, the diseases of their souls. [v]

How then can we confidently put you on show in the battle line, when instead you do us harm, being wounded at once by our enemies and made a laughingstock? One man’s hand is diseased and shriveled, so that he cannot give. How could such a man hold a shield and thrust it out before him, and avoid being wounded by the jeers at his cruelty? Others are lame in the feet — all who go up to the theaters and to the haunts of prostitutes. How will these be able to stand in the battle, and not be wounded by the charge of loose living? Another is sick and crippled in his eyes: he does not look straight, but is full of lust, assailing women’s chastity and overturning marriages. How could this man look the enemy in the face, brandish a spear, and throw his javelin, when he is being goaded on every side with jeers? [x]

We may also see many whose bellies are as sick as those of people with dropsy, when they are enslaved to gluttony and drunkenness. How then will I be able to lead these drunken men out to war? Others have a rotten mouth: these are the hot-tempered, the slanderers, and the blasphemers. How will such a man ever shout in battle and achieve anything great and noble, when he too is drunk with another kind of drunkenness and gives the enemy plenty to laugh at?

That is why every day I go around this camp, dressing your wounds and healing your sores. But if you ever rouse yourselves and become fit even to wound others, I will teach you this art of war and show you how to handle these weapons. Or rather, your deeds themselves will be your weapons, and everyone will submit at once — if you become merciful, if forbearing, if gentle and patient, if you display every other virtue as well. And if anyone contradicts us, we will add the proof of what we can show on our side, bringing you forward. As it is, we are rather held back in this race — at least as far as you are concerned.

Consider this. We say that Christ has done great things, that he has made men into angels. Then, when we are called on to give an account and asked to furnish proof from this flock, our mouths are stopped. For I am afraid that in place of angels I would bring out swine as from a sty, and horses mad with lust.

I know you are hurt. But these things are not said against all of you, only against the guilty — or rather, not even against them, if they wake up, but for their sake. For as things are, everything is lost and ruined. The church has become no better than a stable for oxen and a pen for donkeys and camels, and I go around looking for a sheep and cannot see one. So much are they all kicking, like horses and wild donkeys, and they fill this place with a great deal of dung — for that is what their talk is like. If you could see what is said at each gathering, by men and by women, you would find their words more unclean than that dung.

So I urge you to change this evil habit, so that the church may smell of perfume. As it is, we store up perfumes for the senses in it, but we take no great care to purge out and drive away the uncleanness of the mind. Then what good is it? For we do not disgrace the church so much by bringing dung into it as we disgrace it by saying such things to one another — about profits, about business, about petty trading, about things that are nothing to us — when there ought to be choirs of angels here, and we ought to make the church a heaven, and know nothing else but earnest prayers, and silence with listening.

Let us do this, then, at any rate from now on, so that we may both purify our lives and attain the promised blessings, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen.