Homily on Philemon 3

'If then you hold me as a partner, receive him as myself.'

'But if he has wronged you in anything, or owes you anything, charge that to my account.'

'I Paul have written it with my own hand, I will repay it—not to say to you that you owe me your very self besides.'

He knows how to press a matter home by nothing so well as by not asking for everything all at once.

For observe after how many commendations, after how great a preparation, he set down this great request.

After saying that he is 'my child,' that he is 'a partner in the gospel,' that he is 'my very heart,' that 'you have a brother in him,' that 'hold him as a brother'—then he added, 'as myself.'

And Paul was not ashamed of this.

For he who was not ashamed to be called the servant of the faithful, but even confessed it openly, much more would he not have declined this.

And what he says is this:

'If you are of the same mind with me, if you run in the same course, if you count me a friend, receive him as myself.'

Observe where and when he has placed the mention of the wrong;

later, after having said many things beforehand on his behalf.

For since the loss of money is especially wont to sting men, in order that Philemon might not make any complaint even about this (for it was likely that these things had actually been squandered),

then he sets this down and says:

'If he stole anything'—but what does he say? 'If he has wronged you in anything.'

At once he both confessed the fault, and yet not as the fault of a slave, but as of a friend toward a friend, using the word 'wrong' rather than the word 'theft.'

'Charge this to my account,' he says;

that is, 'Hold the debt against me; I will repay it.'

Then also with spiritual grace:

'I Paul have written it with my own hand.'

And this both to shame him and at the same time with pleasant charm; for if Paul did not decline even to execute a bond on his behalf, would Philemon himself decline to receive this man?

This exceedingly moved him with shame, and relieved Onesimus of the burden of his trouble.

'And with my own hand,' he says, 'I have written it.'

Nothing is warmer than these bowels of compassion, nothing more diligent, nothing more eager.

See how great a care he takes on behalf of a single man.

'Not to say to you,' he says, 'that you owe me your very self besides.'

Then, lest it should seem to be an insult to the one who is being asked—as though Paul had not been confident to make the request concerning the theft and to obtain it—he softens this too in a certain way:

'Not to say,' he says, 'that you owe me your very self besides;'

not only what is yours, but yourself as well.

And this came from love, and according to the law of friendship, and from his exceeding confidence.

See how everywhere he provides for both things: both to make the request with much security, and yet not to let this become proof that he presumed too greatly upon him.

What is the meaning of 'Yes, brother'? 'Receive him,' he says;

for this must be supplied from without.

For having laid aside the pleasantry, he takes hold again of his former, weighty considerations.

And yet these matters too are weighty;

for the things that come from the saints are also

themselves weighty, even if they should jest somewhat.

'Yes, brother, let me have joy of you in the Lord;

refresh my bowels of compassion in Christ.'

That is, 'You are giving the favor to the Lord, not to me.'

'Having confidence in your obedience, I have written to you.'

What stone would these words not have softened? What wild beast would they not have tamed and disposed to receive him sincerely? After having borne witness to him amid such great virtues, he does not decline to make his defense yet again.

He does not speak simply, nor as commanding, nor with self-will, but 'Having confidence in your obedience, I have written to you.'

Having boldness, he says this here also, to set his seal upon the letter.

'Knowing that you will do even beyond what I say.'

At the same time he also stirred him up by saying this;

for he would have been ashamed, if for no other reason, holding such a reputation in his eyes—that he does even beyond what is asked—not to do so much.

'But at the same time prepare me also a lodging;

for I hope that through your prayers I shall be granted to you.'

And this too belonged to one greatly confident; or rather, this too was on behalf of Onesimus, in order that they might not grow negligent, but knowing that he would certainly return and hear what had been done concerning him, might put away all remembrance of wrongs, and rather grant the favor.

For great was the grace and the honor when Paul was present—Paul now advanced in years, Paul in his chains.

Again, a proof of their love was that he bids them pray, and gives them so much as to pray on his behalf.

'For even though I am now in dangers, yet nevertheless you shall see me, if you pray.'

'Epaphras, my fellow prisoner in Christ Jesus, greets you.'

This man had been sent from the Colossians;

so that from this also it is evident that Philemon too was in Colossae.

And he calls him a fellow prisoner, showing that he too was in great affliction.

So that even if not for that man's own sake, yet for this one's sake it was reasonable that Paul should be heard.

For he who is in affliction, who has left his own affairs aside and is anxious for the concerns of others, ought to be heard.

And in yet another way he puts him to shame: if this man's own fellow citizen has become his fellow prisoner and shares in his ill-treatment, while he himself will not so much as grant a favour on behalf of his own household servant.

'My fellow prisoner in Christ Jesus'—that is, for the sake of Christ.

'Mark, Aristarchus, Demas, Luke, my fellow workers.'

Why then does he place Luke last? And yet elsewhere he says:

'Only Luke is with me.'

'And Demas,' he says, was one of those who forsook him and loved this present age.

Now even if these things are stated elsewhere, nevertheless they must not be left unexamined, nor heard carelessly, nor as it may chance.

But how does he say that the man who forsook him sends greetings to them? For 'Erastus,' he says, 'remained at Corinth.'

Epaphras, then, he adds as one known to them and as being from that place, and Mark as being himself also an admirable man;

but why does he reckon Demas among these? Perhaps he became more slothful afterwards, when he saw the many dangers.

Luke, however, though he was last, became first.

And by these titles too he addresses him, urging him the more towards obedience, and he calls them fellow workers, thereby also shaming him into granting the request.

'The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit.'

He closed the epistle with a prayer.

And prayer is indeed a great good and a means of salvation, and a safeguard of our souls;

but it is great when we do things worthy of it, and do not render ourselves unworthy of it.

And so, when you approach the priest, and he says:

'God will have mercy on you, my child,' do not trust in the word alone, but add works as well;

'God will bless you, my child'—if indeed you do the things of blessing, He will bless; if you show mercy to your neighbour;

for the things which we wish to obtain from God, these we ought first to impart to our neighbours;

but if we deprive our neighbours of these very things, how do we wish to obtain them? 'Blessed,' He says, 'are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.'

For if even human beings show mercy to such people, much more does God;

for 'the judgment is without mercy to him who has shown no mercy.'

What, then, have you done for another? Do you wish to be forgiven your offences? Why then did you yourself not forgive the one who had offended you? Yet you come to God asking for the kingdom of heaven, while you yourself, when asked for money, did not give it. For this reason we are not shown mercy—because we do not show mercy.

'Why?' someone says. 'Surely this too is an act of mercy—to show mercy to the unmerciful.'

For how could he be merciful who deals kindly with the cruel and savage man, the one who inflicts countless evils upon his neighbour? 'What then?' he says; 'did not the laver save us, who had wrought countless evils?' It delivered us from those evils—not that we should do them again, but that we should not do them.

For 'if we died to sin,' he says, 'how shall we still live in it?' What then? Shall we sin because we are not under law? God forbid.

For this reason He delivered you from those sins—that you might no longer run back to that dishonour.

Since physicians too free the fever-stricken from the flame, not that they may misuse their health for harm and disorder (since it were better to be ill, if one were to be made well for this purpose—that he might again nail himself to the sick-bed), but that, having learned the evils that come from sickness, they may no longer fall into the same ills, may hold to their health more securely, and may do everything that contributes to it.

'How then,' he says, 'is God loving toward mankind, if indeed He will not save the wicked?' For in many places I hear many saying this too, that He is loving toward mankind and will surely save all.

In order, then, that we may not deceive ourselves in vain (for indeed I remember some such promise), come, let us today set this discourse in motion.

I discoursed to you about Gehenna the other day, and I deferred the discourse concerning the loving-kindness of God;

so today it is good to render it.

That there will indeed be a Gehenna, we have, as I think, sufficiently perhaps demonstrated, by bringing forward the Flood and the former evils, and by saying that it is not possible that He who did those things should leave unpunished those of the present.

For if He so punished those who sinned before the law, He will not leave unpunished those who have wrought greater evils after grace.

The question, then, was raised: How is He good, and how loving toward mankind, if indeed He punishes? And we deferred the discourse, so as not to overwhelm your hearing with the multitude of matters.

Come, let us today discharge the debt, and show how God is good even while He punishes.

For indeed this discourse would also fit our case against the heretics;

so let us attend with diligence.

God, needing nothing of ours, made us.

And that He needed nothing, He made clear by having created us afterwards.

For if He had needed us, He would have made us long before;

but if He Himself existed even without us, while we came into being in later times, then He made us not because He needed us.

He made heaven, earth, sea, and all things that are, for our sake.

Are these not marks of goodness, tell me? And one could say many things;

but that we may cut short the discourse—He makes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the just and the unjust.

Is this not a mark of goodness? 'No,' he says.

For once, in conversation with a certain Marcionite, I said, 'Are not these things marks of goodness?' And he said, 'If He did not demand an account of sins, it would be goodness;

but if He does demand it, it is not goodness.'

But that man is not present now.

Come, let us state what was then said, and more besides.

For I show, and that abundantly, that if He did not demand an account, He would not be good;

but because He does demand it, for this very reason He is good.

For tell me: if He did not demand an account of us, would human life have stood firm? Should we not have fallen away into the state of wild beasts? For if, with fear and reckonings and courts of judgment hanging over us, we have outdone the fishes in devouring one another, and have hidden the lions and the wolves by our plundering of one another's goods;

if He did not demand an account of us—and of this too we are persuaded—with how much confusion and turmoil would life have been filled? What was the fabled labyrinth compared to the disorder of the world that would follow? Would you not have seen countless absurdities and disorders? For who then would have reverenced a father? Who would

have spared his mother? Who would have left untried any pleasure, any wickedness? And that these things are so, I will try to persuade you from a single household alone.

How? If I make it clear to you who ask these questions and who own household servants, that even though they should ruin your mastery over the house, and insult your very body, and carry off everything, and turn things upside down, and treat you as enemies would, you will not threaten them, not punish them, not take vengeance, nor even grieve them so much as with words;

does this then seem to you to be a mark of goodness? But I show that it is a mark of the utmost cruelty—not only because by this untimely kindness the wife and the children are betrayed, but also because those very servants are, before all these, destroyed.

For they will become drunkards and licentious and dissolute and insolent, and more irrational than all the beasts.

Is this then a mark of goodness, tell me—to trample down the nobility of the soul, and to destroy both themselves and one another? Do you see that to demand a reckoning is the very thing that belongs to great kindness? And why do I speak of servants, who come more readily to these sins? But let someone have sons, and let him permit them to dare everything, and let him not punish them: than whom, tell me, will they not become worse? Then, in the case of human beings, punishing is a mark of goodness and not punishing a mark of cruelty; but in the case of God, is it no longer so? So that, because He is good, for this reason He prepared Gehenna beforehand.

Do you wish me to tell of yet another instance of God's goodness? Not this alone, but also that He does not permit the good to become evil.

For if they were to meet with the same lot, all would be evil;

but as it is, this too in no small measure comforts the good.

For hear the Prophet saying:

'The righteous shall rejoice when he sees the vengeance of the ungodly; he shall wash his hands in the blood of the sinner.'

Not because he takes excessive delight in it—God forbid!—but because, fearing lest he himself suffer the same things, he will make his own life the more pure.

This, then, is a mark of great solicitude.

'But it would have been enough merely to threaten, and not also to punish.'

If He does punish, and yet you say that the matter is but a threat, and on that account you become the more careless—

if it were truly only a threat, would you not have grown even more heedless? Had the Ninevites known that the matter was merely a threat, they would not have repented;

but because they did repent, they caused the threat to stop at mere words.

Do you wish it to be a threat? You are the master of the matter;

become better, and it stops at the threat;

but if—which God forbid—you despise the threat, you will come to the actual experience of it;

those before the flood, had they feared the threat, would not have endured the actual experience.

And we too, if we fear the threat, shall not undergo the actual experience;

but may the God who loves mankind grant that all of us, being brought to sound-mindedness even now from this present life, may attain unto those ineffable good things;

of which may it be granted to us all to be counted worthy, by the grace and love toward mankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, might, and honour unto the Father, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.