Homily 9 — Matthew 2, verses 16 to 23

“Then Herod, when he saw that he had been mocked by the wise men, was furious.” [a]

Yet surely this was a case not for anger, but for fear and awe. He ought to have seen that he was attempting the impossible. But he is not held back. For when a soul has lost all feeling and is past cure, it yields to none of the medicines God gives. Look at this man, for example: he follows up his earlier efforts, adds many murders to the one, and rushes headlong down the slope, wherever it may lead. Driven wild by this anger and envy as if by some demon, he takes account of nothing. He rages even against nature herself, and the anger he feels against the wise men who mocked him he vents on children who had done no wrong — daring in Palestine a deed akin to what had once been done in Egypt. For he “sent,” it says, “and killed all the children in Bethlehem and in all its region, from two years old and under, according to the time he had carefully learned from the wise men.”

Pay close attention to me here. Many people say many very idle things about these children, and the course of events is charged with injustice. Some voice their perplexity about it in a more moderate way; others with more audacity and frenzy. So, in order to free the second group from their madness and the first from their perplexity, let us speak a little on this subject. Clearly, then, if their charge is that the children were left to be slaughtered, they should find fault in the same way with the killing of the soldiers who guarded Peter. For just as here, when the young child had fled, other children are massacred in place of the one who was sought, so it was then too. When Peter had been freed from his prison and his chains by the angel, a man who had the same name as this tyrant, and the same temper too, looked for him, did not find him, and killed the soldiers who guarded him instead.

Someone may say: “But what is this? This is no solution. It only makes our difficulty greater.” I know that too. And it is for exactly this purpose that I bring all such cases forward: so that I may give one and the same solution for them all. What, then, is the solution to these things? What fair account can we give of them? That Christ was not the cause of their slaughter, but the king’s cruelty; just as Peter was not the cause in the case of those others either, but Herod’s madness. If Herod had seen the wall broken through or the doors knocked down, he might perhaps have had grounds to accuse the soldiers who guarded the apostle of neglect. But as it was, everything remained in proper order: the doors were thrown wide open, and the chains were fastened to the hands of those who guarded him — for in fact they were bound to him. From these things he might have concluded, if he had strictly done a judge’s duty in the matter before him, that what happened was not the work of human power or trickery, but of some divine and wonder-working power. He might have worshiped the one who did these things instead of waging war on the guards. For God had done everything he did in such a way that, far from exposing the guards, he was using them to lead the king to the truth. But if the king proved senseless, what does the unruliness of the sick man matter to the skillful Physician of souls, who arranges all things to do good?

And the same may be said in the present case too. Why are you angry, Herod, at being mocked by the wise men? Didn’t you know that the birth was divine? Didn’t you summon the chief priests? Didn’t you gather the scribes? When they were called, didn’t they bring the prophet along with them into your court of judgment, proclaiming these things in advance from long ago? Didn’t you see how the old things agreed with the new? Didn’t you hear that a star, too, had served these men? Didn’t you respect the zeal of the barbarians? Didn’t you marvel at their boldness? Weren’t you struck with horror at the truth of the prophet? Didn’t you perceive from what came before what would come at the very last as well? Why didn’t you reason with yourself from all these things that this event came not from the wise men’s trickery, but from a divine power that arranges all things as they should be? And even if you were deceived by the wise men, what is that to the young children, who had done no wrong?

Someone says: “Yes, you have left Herod thoroughly without excuse and proved him bloodthirsty. But you have not yet solved the question about the injustice of what happened. If he acted unjustly, why did God allow it?” Now what should we say to this? What I never stop saying, in church, in the marketplace, and everywhere; what I also want you to keep carefully in mind, for it is a kind of rule for us, fitted to every perplexity of this sort. What, then, is our rule, and what is our saying? That although there are many who do wrong, there is not so much as one who is wronged. And so that the riddle does not trouble you too much, I will add the solution at once. I mean that whatever we may suffer unjustly from anyone counts either toward doing away with our sins, God setting that wrong to our account, or toward a recompense in rewards. [d]

To make what I am saying clearer, let us carry the argument through by way of an illustration. Suppose a servant owes his master a great deal of money, and then this servant is abused by unjust men and robbed of some of his goods. Now suppose the master, who had it in his power to stop the robber and wrongdoer, does not give back that same property, but counts what was taken against what the servant owed him. Is the servant wronged? Not at all. And what if the master repays him even more? Hasn’t the servant then gained more than he lost? Everyone sees that, I suppose.

Now we must make this same reckoning about our own sufferings. That in return for what we suffer wrongfully we either have our sins done away, or, if our sins are not so great, receive more glorious crowns — listen to what Paul says about the man who had committed sexual immorality: “Hand such a one over to Satan for the destruction of the flesh, so that the spirit may be saved.” But you may say: “What is this? The discussion was about those who are wronged by others, not about those who are corrected by their teachers.” I might answer that there is no difference, for the question was whether suffering evil is an injury to the one who suffers it. But to bring my argument nearer to the very point in question, remember David. Once, when he saw Shimei attacking him, trampling on him in his distress, and pouring out endless insults on him, and his captains wanted to kill the man, David absolutely forbade them. He said, “Let him curse, so that the Lord may look on my humiliation and repay me good for this cursing today.” And in the Psalms too, as he sang, he said, “Look at my enemies, how many they are, and they hate me with unjust hatred,” and, “Forgive all my sins.” And Lazarus again, for the same reason, was granted remission, having suffered countless evils in this life. So those who are wronged are not wronged, if they bear nobly all that they suffer. No, they gain even more abundantly, whether they are struck by God or scourged by the devil.

Someone may say: “But what sin did these children have, that their suffering should do it away? About people of full age who are guilty of many acts of negligence, one might speak that way with some show of reason. But those who died so early — what sins did they put away by their sufferings?” Didn’t you hear me say that even where there are no sins, there is a recompense in rewards hereafter for those who suffer wrong here? So how were the young children harmed by being killed for such a cause and carried off quickly into that harbor where no waves ever come? You say: “Because many of them, if they had lived, would have achieved many great deeds of goodness.” Why, for that very reason he stores up for them in advance no small reward: that their lives ended for such a cause. Besides, if the children were going to become persons of any greatness, he would not have let them be snatched away early. For if he bears with such great patience those who will go on living in continual wickedness, much more would he not have allowed these to be taken away like this, if he had foreknown that they would accomplish any great things. [f]

These are the reasons we have to give. Yet they are not all; there are others too, more hidden than these, which he knows perfectly, since he himself orders these things. So let us leave the more complete understanding of this matter to him, and apply ourselves to what follows; and in the calamities of others let us learn to bear all things nobly. For it was no small scene of grief that came upon Bethlehem then: the children were snatched from their mothers’ breasts and dragged off to this unjust slaughter.

And if you are still faint-hearted and not equal to mastering yourself in these matters, learn the end of the man who dared all this, and recover yourself a little. Punishment overtook him very quickly for these things. He paid the just penalty for so abominable a deed, ending his life by a painful death, more pitiable than the one he dared to inflict then, and suffering countless other evils besides. You can learn of them by reading Josephus’ account of these events. But so as not to make our discussion long and break its thread, we have not thought it necessary to insert that account into what we are saying.

“Then was fulfilled what was spoken by Jeremiah the prophet, saying, ‘In Ramah a voice was heard, Rachel weeping for her children, and she would not be comforted, because they are no more.’” [g]

Having filled the hearer with horror by telling these things — a slaughter so violent and unjust, so utterly cruel and lawless — he comforts him again. What he is saying is this: none of this happened because God lacked the power to prevent it, or because he did not know of it. He both knew it and foretold it, and loudly, through his prophet. So do not be troubled or lose heart, as you look to his providence, which is beyond words, and which one may see most clearly both in what he does and in what he permits.

He hinted at this in another place too, when he was speaking to his disciples. I mean where he had warned them in advance of courts and executions, of the wars of the world and of the battle that knows no truce; and then, to hold up their spirits and comfort them, he says, “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground without your Father who is in heaven.” He said these things to show that nothing happens without his knowledge; but while he knows everything, he does not himself act in everything. “So do not be troubled,” he says, “or disturbed.” For if he knows what you suffer and has the power to stop it, it is perfectly clear that it is out of his providence and care for you that he does not stop it. We ought to keep this in mind in our own trials too, and great is the comfort we will draw from it.

But what, someone may say, does Rachel have to do with Bethlehem? For it says, “Rachel weeping for her children.” And what does Ramah have to do with Rachel? Rachel was the mother of Benjamin, and at his death they buried her in the racecourse that was near this place. Since the tomb was near, and the region belonged to Benjamin, her infant son — for Ramah was in the tribe of Benjamin — he naturally calls the massacred children hers: first because she was the head of the tribe, and second because of the place where she was buried. Then, to show that the wound that came upon her was incurable and cruel, he says, “she would not be comforted, because they are no more.”

From this, again, we are taught what I mentioned before: never to be thrown into confusion when what is happening runs contrary to God’s promise. Look, for instance, at the kind of beginnings he had, when he had come for the salvation of the people — or rather, for the salvation of the world. First his mother is in flight; his birthplace is caught up in calamities beyond remedy; a murder is committed that is of all murders the bitterest; and there is lamentation and great mourning, and wailing everywhere. But do not be troubled. For it is always his way to carry out his own arrangements through their opposites, and from this he gives us the very greatest proof of his power.

This is how he led on his own disciples too, and prepared them to do all their duty, bringing things about through their opposites so that the marvel might be greater. At any rate, while they were being scourged and persecuted and suffering endless terrors, in this very way they got the better of those who were beating and persecuting them.

“But when Herod was dead, look, an angel of the Lord appears in a dream to Joseph, saying, ‘Get up, and take the young child and his mother, and go into the land of Israel.’” [j]

He no longer says “flee,” but “go.” Do you see again, after the trial, relief, and then after the relief, danger once more? Joseph was set free from his exile and came back to his own country, and he saw the murderer of the children brought to destruction. But when he has set foot in his own country, he finds again a remnant of the former dangers: the tyrant’s son alive and reigning as king.

But how did Archelaus reign over Judea, when Pontius Pilate was governor? Herod’s death had taken place only recently, and the kingdom had not yet been divided into many parts. Since Herod had only just ended his life, his son held on to the kingdom for a while, “in place of his father Herod.” His brother also bore this name, and that is why the evangelist added, “in place of his father Herod.”

Still, someone may say: “If he was afraid to settle in Judea because of Archelaus, he had reason to fear Galilee too, because of Herod.” I answer: by changing his place, he threw the whole matter into the shade from then on. For the whole attack had been on “Bethlehem and all its region.” So now that the slaughter had taken place, the young Archelaus had no other thought but that the whole affair was over, and that among the many, the one being sought had been destroyed. Besides, having seen his father come to such an end of his life before his very eyes, he became more cautious from then on about going further and pressing on with that course of wickedness.

So Joseph comes to Nazareth, partly to avoid the danger, and partly because he was glad to live in his native place. To give him more courage, he also receives a word from the angel about this. Luke, however, does not say that he came there by divine warning, but that when they had completed everything for the purification, they returned to Nazareth. What, then, can one say? That when Luke says these things, he is giving an account of the time before the going down to Egypt. For God would not have brought them down there before the purification, so that nothing would be done contrary to the law. He waited for her to be purified and to go to Nazareth, and only then for them to go down to Egypt. Then, after their return, he tells them to go to Nazareth. But before this they were not warned by God to go there; they did so of their own accord, longing for their native place. For since they had gone up for no other reason than the census, and did not have so much as a place to stay, when they had finished what they had come up for, they went down to Nazareth.

We see here the reason why the angel too, setting them at ease for the future, gives them back their home. And not even this simply: he adds a prophecy to it. “That what was spoken by the prophets might be fulfilled,” he says: “He will be called a Nazarene.” [l]

And which prophet said this? Do not be curious or overbusy. Many of the prophetic writings have been lost, and one can see this from the history in the Chronicles. Being careless, and continually falling into ungodliness, they let some perish, and others they burned and cut to pieces themselves. The second of these Jeremiah relates; the first, the man who wrote the fourth book of Kings, when he says that after a long time the book of Deuteronomy was barely found, buried somewhere and lost. And if they betrayed their books like this when there was no barbarian in the land, much more when the barbarians had overrun them. As for the fact that the prophet had foretold it, the apostles themselves in many places call him a Nazarene.

Someone may say: “Wasn’t this, then, throwing a shadow over the prophecy about Bethlehem?” Not at all. Rather, this very fact was bound to stir people up greatly and rouse them to search out what had been said about him. Nathanael, for example, begins the inquiry about him by saying, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” For the place was held in little regard — or rather, not that place only, but the whole region of Galilee as well. That is why the Pharisees said, “Search and see, for no prophet arises out of Galilee.” Yet he is not ashamed to be named even from there, showing that he needs nothing of what belongs to human beings. And he chooses his disciples, too, out of Galilee, everywhere cutting away the excuses of those inclined to be lazy, and giving signs that we have no need of outward things, if we practice virtue.

That is why he does not choose for himself so much as a house; for “the Son of Man,” he says, “has nowhere to lay his head.” When Herod is plotting against him, he flees; at his birth he is laid in a manger and stays in an inn; he takes a mother of humble station. He is teaching us to think nothing of this kind a disgrace; from the very outset he tramples on human arrogance, and bids us give ourselves up to virtue alone.

For this is how he speaks: “Why do you pride yourself on your country, when I am commanding you to be a stranger to the whole world — when you are free to become someone of whom the whole universe is not worthy?” For these things are so utterly contemptible that even among the philosophers of the Greeks they are not thought worth any consideration. They are called “externals,” and they occupy the lowest place. [o]

Someone may say: “But Paul allows them, when he says, ‘As regards election, they are beloved for the sake of the fathers.’” But tell me: when was he saying this, about what, and to whom? Why, to those of Gentile origin, who were puffing themselves up over their faith and exalting themselves against the Jews, and so breaking them off all the more. He said it to bring down the swelling pride of the one group, and to win over the others and stir them thoroughly to the same eager rivalry. For when he is speaking of those noble and great men, listen to how he puts it: “Those who say such things make it plain that they are seeking a homeland. And truly, if they had been thinking of the one they came out from, they would have had the chance to return. But as it is, they desire another, a better country.” And again: “These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them from far off and embraced them.” And John too said to those who were coming to him, “Do not think to say, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’” And Paul again: “For not all who are of Israel are Israel; nor is it the children of the flesh who are the children of God.”

For tell me, what did the sons of Samuel gain from their father’s nobility, when they did not inherit their father’s virtue? And what profit did Moses’ sons have, when they had not tried to match his perfection? That is why they did not inherit the leadership either. While they counted him as their father, the rule of the people passed to another — to the one who had become his son by way of virtue. And what harm did it do Timothy that his father was a Greek? Or, on the other hand, what did Noah’s son gain from his father’s virtue, when he became a slave instead of free? Do you see how little a father’s nobility avails his children as an advocate? For the wickedness of Ham’s disposition overpowered the laws of nature, and threw him out not only of the rank he had through his father, but also of his freedom.

And what of Esau? Was he not the son of Isaac, and did he not have his father standing as his friend? Yes, his father too tried hard and wanted him to share in the blessings, and he himself, for the sake of this, did everything he was commanded. Nevertheless, because he was perverse, none of these things did him any good. Although he was first by birth, and had his father on his side doing everything toward this end, yet because he did not have God with him, he lost everything.

But why do I speak of human beings? The Jews were sons of God, and they gained nothing by this high birth of theirs. Now if a man who has become a son of God, but fails to show an excellence worthy of this noble birth, is punished all the more, why do you bring up to me the nobility of ancestors remote or near? For not only under the old covenant, but under the new as well, one can find this rule holding. “As many as received him,” it says, “to them he gave power to become children of God.” And yet Paul has declared that many of these children gained nothing from their father: “For if you are circumcised,” he says, “Christ will profit you nothing.” And if Christ is no help to those who will not take care of themselves, how will a mere man stand up on their behalf?

So let us not pride ourselves either on high birth or on wealth; rather, let us look down on those who think that way. Nor let us be downcast at poverty. But let us seek that wealth which consists in good works, and flee that poverty which makes people live in wickedness — the poverty that made that rich man poor. That is why he did not have at his command so much as a drop of water, and that although he begged hard for it. Yet who among us is so poor as to lack water enough even for comfort? There is no one like that. Even those who are wasting away from extreme hunger can have the comfort of a drop of water — and not of a drop only, but of far more abundant refreshment too. Not so that rich man: he was poor even to this degree, and, what was more grievous still, he could not ease his poverty from any source. Why, then, do we gape after riches, when they do not bring us into heaven? [s]

For tell me: if one of the kings on earth had said, “No rich man can be distinguished at court or enjoy any honor,” wouldn’t each of you have thrown away his riches with contempt? So if riches would deserve all contempt for shutting us out of such honor as there is in palaces below, then when the King of heaven cries aloud day after day and says, “It is hard for them to set foot on that sacred threshold,” shall we not give up everything and withdraw from our possessions, so that we may enter the kingdom with confidence? And what regard do we deserve, when we go to great pains to surround ourselves with the very things that block our way there, and to hide them not only in chests but even in the ground, when we could entrust them to the keeping of the heavens themselves? For surely you are doing the same as a farmer who had wheat with which to sow rich land, and left the land alone and buried all the wheat in a pit, so that he could not enjoy it himself, and the wheat could not come to anything, but only rot and waste away.

But what is their usual plea when we accuse them of these things? They say: “It is no small comfort to know that everything is stored up safely for us at home.” No — rather, not knowing that it is stored away is the comfort. For even if you are not afraid of famine, other, more grievous things are bound to terrify you because of this hoard: deaths, wars, plots laid against you. And if a famine should ever come upon us, the people, driven by their bellies, will take up arms against your house. Or rather, by doing this you are first of all bringing famine into our cities, and next you are opening up for your own house this chasm, more grievous than famine. For I do not know of anyone who has come to a quick end through the pressure of famine, since there are many means in many places that can be devised to relieve that evil. But because of possessions and riches and the pursuits connected with them, I can point to many who have come to ruin, some in secret, some openly. The highways are full of such cases, and so are the law courts and the marketplaces. But why do I speak of the highways, the law courts and the marketplaces? You can see the very sea filled with their blood. For this tyranny has not held sway over the land only, it seems; it has also marched over the ocean in festive procession, with great excess. One man makes a voyage for gold; another is stabbed for the same; and the same tyrannical power has made the one a merchant and the other a murderer.

What, then, can be less trustworthy than Mammon, when for his sake one man travels, takes risks, and is killed? “But who,” it says, “will pity a snake charmer who is bitten by a serpent?” For since we know its cruel tyranny, we ought to flee that slavery and destroy that grievous longing. Someone says: “But how is this possible?” By bringing in another longing: the longing for heaven. For the one who desires the kingdom will laugh greed to scorn. The one who has become Christ’s slave is no slave of Mammon, but rather his master. For it is Mammon’s way to follow the one who flees from him, and to flee from the one who pursues him. He does not honor his pursuer so much as the one who despises him; there is no one he laughs to scorn so much as those who desire him. And he does not only laugh them to scorn; he also wraps countless chains around them.

So let it be ours, however late, to loosen these grievous chains. Why bring your reasoning soul into bondage to brute matter, the mother of those untold evils? But how absurd it is! While we wage war against it in words, it wages war on us in deeds, and leads us and carries us around everywhere, insulting us as though we were slaves bought with money and fit for the whip. What could be more disgraceful and dishonorable than this?

Again: if we do not get the better of senseless forms of matter, how will we gain the upper hand over the bodiless powers? If we do not despise worthless earth and lowly stones, how will we bring the rulers and authorities into subjection? How will we practice self-control? I mean, if silver dazzles and overpowers us, when will we be able to hurry past a beautiful face? For some are so sold under this tyranny that they are stirred somehow even at the mere sight of gold, and say in jest that the very eyes are better off when a gold coin comes into view. But do not make such jokes, whoever you are. For nothing so harms the eyes, both those of the body and those of the soul, as the lust for these things.

For instance, it was this grievous longing that put out the lamps of those virgins and cast them out of the bridal chamber. This sight, which, as you said, “does the eyes good,” did not let the wretched Judas listen to the Lord’s voice, but led him even to the noose, made him burst open in the middle, and after all that, led him on to hell. What, then, can be more lawless than this? What more horrible? I do not mean the substance of riches, but the untimely and frantic desire for them. Why, it drips with human blood, and has murder in its look, and is fiercer than any wild beast, tearing to pieces those who fall in its way. And what is much worse, it does not let them even have any sense of being mangled. For reason would have those who are treated this way stretch out their hands to the passers-by and call them to their help; but these people are even grateful for such tearing of their flesh. What could be more wretched than that?

So, keeping all these things in mind, let us flee this incurable disease. Let us heal the wounds it has made, and withdraw from such a plague, so that here we may live a secure and untroubled life, and attain the treasure to come. May we all attain it, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom be glory, power, and honor to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.