_The World's Great Sermons_
VOLUME I
BASIL TO CALVIN
_By Grenville Kleiser_
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FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY NEW YORK AND LONDON
THE WORLD'S GREAT SERMONS
Compiled By
GRENVILLE KLEISER
Formerly of Yale Divinity School Faculty;
Author of "How to Speak in Public," Etc.
With Assistance from Many of the Foremost Living Preachers and Other
Theologians
INTRODUCTION BY LEWIS O. BRASTOW, D.D.
Professor Emeritus of Practical Theology in Yale University
IN TEN VOLUMES
VOLUME. I--BASIL TO CALVIN
Copyright, 1908, By Funk & Wagnalls Company
_Printed in the United States of America_
PREFACE
The aim in preparing this work has been to bring together the best
examples of the products of the pulpit through the Christian centuries,
and to present these masterpieces in attractive and convenient form. It
is believed that they will be found valuable as instruction to ministers
of to-day. They should also be helpful to others who, tho not preachers,
yet seek reading of this kind for the upbuilding of personal character
and for strengthening their Christian faith.
The sermons have been chosen in some cases for their literary and
rhetorical excellences, but in every case for their helpfulness in
solving some of the problems of Christian living. No two persons are
likely to agree upon "the best" of anything, and readers will probably
wish in particular instances that some other clergymen or sermons had
been included. It is confidently believed, however, that the list here
given is fairly representative of the preaching that characterized the
age to which each sermon respectively belongs.
While some of the sermons of the early centuries may not seem exactly
fitted to modern needs, it is thought that those presented will repay
careful perusal, since they each contain a distinct message for later
generations. Moreover, a comparison extending over the whole field of
sermonic literature, such as the preacher may make with this collection
before him, should prove most valuable as showing what progress and
changes have come over homiletic matter and methods. Such a comparison
should in fact throw much light on the spirit and conditions of various
homiletic periods.
In choosing sermons by living preachers considerable difficulty has been
found, not only in deciding upon sermons, but upon preachers. The list
might have been extended indefinitely. Whenever possible the preacher,
when living, has himself been consulted as to what he considered his
most representative sermon.
Thanks are due, and are hereby acknowledged, to numerous clergymen,
publishers, librarians, and others who have generously assisted the
compiler in this undertaking. Most grateful acknowledgment is also made
to the Rev. Epiphanius Wilson and the Rev. W.C. Stiles for valuable
editorial assistance.
GRENVILLE KLEISER.
_New York City, October, 1908._
INTRODUCTION
Collections of sermons by noted preachers of different periods are not
an altogether uncommon contribution to literature. Italy, Germany,
Holland, France, Great Britain and the United States have in this way
furnished copious illustrations of the gifts of their illustrious
preachers. Such treasures are found in the Latin and even in the Greek
Church. Protestant communions especially, in line with the supreme
significance which they attach to the work of the pulpit, have thus
sought to magnify the calling and to perpetuate the memory and the
influence of their distinguished sons. Still more comprehensive attempts
have been made to collate the products of representative preachers in
different Protestant communions, and thus to bring into prominence
various types of sermonic literature. It is in this way that the
Christian world has come to know its pulpit princes and to value their
achievements.
The collection contained in the volumes before us is, however, more
varied and comprehensive, reaching as it does from the fourth to the
twentieth century, than any collection known to the writer. In the
selection Professor Kleiser has brought to his task a personal knowledge
of homiletic literature that is the product of much observation and
study during many years, and an enthusiasm for his work that has been
fostered by close intercourse in professional service with preachers and
theological students. He has had the assistance also of men whose
acquaintance with homiletic literature is very extensive, whose critical
judgments are sound and reliable and who may be regarded as experts in
this branch of knowledge. These volumes, therefore, may be accepted as a
judiciously selected collection of sermons by many of the most notable
preachers of the ancient and modern Christian world. Their value as
illustrating varieties of gift, diversities of method, racial, national
and ecclesiastical peculiarities, and above all progress in the science
and art of preaching, may well be recognized even by a generation that
is likely to regard anything that is more than twenty-four hours old as
obsolete.
LEWIS O. BRASTOW.
_Yale University, New Haven, Conn., October, 1908._
CONTENTS
VOLUME I
PREFACE
INTRODUCTION
BASIL (329-379).
The Creation of the World
CHRYSOSTOM (347-407).
Excessive Grief at the Death of Friends
AUGUSTINE (354-430).
The Recovery of Sight by the Blind
WYCLIF (1324-1384).
Christ's Real Body Not in the Eucharist
SAVONAROLA (1452-1498).
The Ascension of Christ
LUTHER (1483-1546).
The Method and Fruits of Justification
LATIMER (1485-1555).
On Christian Love
MELANCHTHON (1497-1560).
The Safety of the Virtuous
KNOX (1505-1572).
The First Temptation of Christ
CALVIN (1509-1564).
Enduring Persecution for Christ
BASIL
THE CREATION OF THE WORLD
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
Basil, bishop of Caesarea in Cappadocia, and styled "The Great," was the
founder of Eastern monasticism, defender of the Nicene doctrines and
doctor of the Church. He was born at Caesarea in 329, and was thoroughly
educated in all that a teacher like Libanius could impart at Rome, and
Himerius at Constantinople. Returning home, he plunged into the
pleasures of social life, but was induced by his sister to visit the
hermits of Syria, Palestine and Egypt. Attracted during his travels to
the religious life, he secluded himself in a lonely spot in inclement
Pontus.
During his monastic life of seven years (357-364) he formulated the
monastic rule still observed by Eastern monks. Ordained presbyter in
364, he labored in founding religious institutions of various kinds. He
attracted notice by his growing Nicene predilections, and was elected
bishop of his native town (370) and virtual primate of Asia Minor. His
conduct in dealing with the Arians was uncompromising yet conciliating.
As a theologian he stands next to his brother Gregory and to Athanasius,
but he excels them both in the literary charm and variety of his Greek
style. He died in 379.
BASIL
329-379
THE CREATION OF THE WORLD
_The earth was without form and void._--Gen. i, 2.
In the few words which have occupied us this morning we have found such
a depth of thought that we despair of penetrating farther. If such is
the forecourt of the sanctuary, if the portico of the temple is so grand
and magnificent, if the splendor of its beauty thus dazzles the eyes of
the soul, what will be the holy of holies? Who will dare to try to gain
access to the innermost shrine? Who will look into its secrets? To gaze
into it is indeed forbidden us, and language is powerless to express
what the mind conceives.
However, since there are rewards, and most desirable ones, reserved by
the just Judge for the intention alone of doing good, do not let us
hesitate to continue our researches. Altho we may not attain to the
truth, if, with the help of the Spirit, we do not fall away from the
meaning of Holy Scripture, we shall not deserve to be rejected, and with
the help of grace, we shall contribute to the edification of the Church
of God.
"The earth," says Holy Scripture, "was without form and void"--_i.e._,
invisible and unfinished. The heavens and the earth were created
together. How, then, is it that the heavens are perfect whilst the earth
is still unformed and incomplete? In one word, what was the unfinished
condition of the earth and for what reason was it invisible? The
fertility of the earth is its perfect finishing; growth of all kinds of
plants, the up-springing of tall trees, both productive and unfruitful,
flowers' sweet scents and fair colors, and all that which, a little
later, at the voice of God came forth from the earth to beautify her,
their universal mother.
As nothing of all this yet existed, Scripture is right in calling the
earth "without form." We could also say of the heavens that they were
still imperfect and had not received their natural adornment, since at
that time they did not shine with the glory of the sun and of the moon,
and were not crowned by the choirs of the stars. These bodies were not
yet created. Thus you will not diverge from the truth in saying that the
heavens also were "without form." The earth was invisible for two
reasons: it may be because man, the spectator, did not yet exist, or
because, being submerged under the waters which overflowed the surface,
it could not be seen, since the waters had not yet been gathered
together into their own places, where God afterward collected them and
gave them the name of sea.
What is invisible? First of all, that which our fleshly eye can not
perceive--our mind, for example; then that which, visible in its nature,
is hidden by some body which conceals it, like iron in the depths of the
earth. It is in this sense that the earth, in that it was hidden under
the waters, was still invisible. However, as light did not yet exist,
and as the earth lay in darkness because of the obscurity of the air
above it, it should not astonish us that for this reason Scripture calls
it "invisible."
But the corrupters of the truth, who, incapable of submitting their
reason to Holy Scripture, distort at will the meaning of the Holy
Scriptures, pretend that these words mean matter. For it is matter, they
say, which from its nature is without form and invisible--being by the
conditions of its existence without quality and without form and figure.
The Artificer submitting it to the working of His wisdom clothed it with
a form, organized it, and thus gave being to the visible world.
If the matter is uncreated, it has a claim to the same honors as God,
since it must be of equal rank with Him. Is this not the summit of
wickedness that utter chaos, without quality, without form or shape,
ugliness without configuration, to use their own expression, should
enjoy the same prerogatives as He who is wisdom, power, and beauty
itself, the Creator and the Demiurge of the universe enjoys? This is
not all. If the matter is so great as to be capable of being acted on by
the whole wisdom of God, it would in a way raise its hypostasis to an
equality with the inaccessible power of God, since it would be able to
measure by itself all the extent of the divine intelligence.
If it is insufficient for the operations of God, then we fall into a
more absurd blasphemy, since we condemn God for not being able, on
account of the want of matter, to finish His own works. The
resourcelessness of human nature has deceived these reasoners. Each of
our crafts is exercised upon some special matter--the art of the smith
upon iron, that of the carpenter on wood. In all there is the subject,
the form and the work which results from the form. Matter is taken from
without--art gives the form--and the work is composed at the same time
of form and of matter.
Such is the idea that they make for themselves of the divine work. The
form of the world is due to the wisdom of the supreme Artificer; matter
came to the Creator from without; and thus the world results from a
double origin. It has received from outside its matter and its essence,
and from God its form and figure. They thus come to deny that the mighty
God has presided at the formation of the universe, and pretend that he
has only brought a crowning contribution to a common work; that he has
only contributed some small portion to the genesis of beings; they are
incapable, from the debasement of their reasonings, of raising their
glances to the height of truth. Here, below, arts are subsequent to
matter--introduced into life by the indispensable need of them. Wool
existed before weaving made it supply one of nature's imperfections.
Wood existed before carpentering took possession of it, and transformed
it each day to supply new wants and made us see all the advantages
derived from it, giving the oar to the sailor, the winnowing-fan to the
laborer, the lance to the soldier.
But God, before all those things which now attract our notice existed,
after casting about in His mind and determining to bring into being that
which had no being, imagined the world such as it ought to be, and
created matter in harmony with the form which He wished to give it. He
assigned to the heavens the nature adapted for the heavens, and gave to
the earth an essence in accordance with its form. He formed, as he
wished, fire, air, and water, and gave to each the essence which the
object of its existence required.
Finally he welded all the diverse parts of the universe by links of
indissoluble attachment and established between them so perfect a
fellowship and harmony that the most distant, in spite of their
distance, appeared united in one universal sympathy. Let those men,
therefore, renounce their fabulous imaginations, who in spite of the
weakness of their argument, pretend to measure a power as
incomprehensible to man's reason as it is unutterable by man's voice.
God created the heavens and the earth, but not only one-half of each; He
created all the heavens and all the earth, creating the essence with the
form. For He is not an inventor of figures, but the Creator even of the
essence of beings. Further, let them tell us how the efficient power of
God could deal with the passive nature of matter, the latter furnishing
the matter without form, the former possessing the science of the form
without matter, both being in need of each other; the Creator in order
to display his art, matter in order to cease to be without form and to
receive a form. But let us stop here and return to our subject.
"The earth was invisible and unfinished." In saying "In the beginning
God created the heavens and the earth" the sacred writer passed over
many things in silence--water, air, fire, and the results from them,
which, all forming in reality the true complement of the world, were,
without doubt made at the same time as the universe. By this silence
history wishes to train the activity of our intelligence, giving it a
weak point for starting, to impel it to the discovery of the truth.
Thus, we are told of the creation of water; but, as we are told that
the earth was invisible, ask yourself what could have covered it and
prevented it from being seen? Fire could not conceal it. Fire brightens
all about it, and spreads light rather than darkness around. No more was
it air that enveloped the earth. Air by nature is of little density and
transparent. It receives all kinds of visible objects and transmits them
to the spectators. Only one supposition remains: that which floated on
the surface of the earth was water, the fluid essence which had not yet
been confined to its own place.
Thus the earth was not only invisible; it was still incomplete. Even
to-day excessive damp is a hindrance to the productiveness of the earth.
The same cause at the same time prevents it from being seen and from
being complete, for the proper and natural adornment of the earth is its
completion: corn waving in the valleys, meadows green with grass and
rich with many-colored flowers, fertile glades and hilltops shaded by
forests. Of all this nothing was yet produced; the earth was in travail
with it in virtue of the power that she had received from the Creator.
But she was waiting for the appointed time and the divine order to bring
forth.
"Darkness was upon the face of the deep." A new source for fables and
most impious imaginations may be found by distorting the sense of these
words at the will of one's fancies. By "darkness" these wicked men do
not understand what is meant in reality--air not illumined, the shadow
produced by the interposition of a body, or finally a place for some
reason deprived of light. For them "darkness" is an evil power, or
rather the personification of evil, having his origin in himself in
opposition to, and in perpetual struggle with, the goodness of God. If
God is light, they say, without any doubt the power which struggles
against Him must be darkness, "darkness" not owing its existence to a
foreign origin, but an evil existing by itself. "Darkness" is the enemy
of souls, the primary cause of death, the adversary of virtue. The words
of the prophet, they say in their error, show that it exists and that it
does not proceed from God. From this what perverse and impious dogmas
have been imagined! What grievous wolves, tearing the flock of the Lord,
have sprung from these words to cast themselves upon souls! Is it not
from hence that have come forth Marcions and Valentinuses and the
detestable heresy of the Manicheans which you may, without going far
wrong, call the putrid humor of the churches?
O man, why wander thus from the truth and imagine for thyself that which
will cause thy perdition? The word is simple and within the comprehension
of all. "The earth was invisible." Why? Because the "deep" was spread
over its surface. What is "the deep?" A mass of water of extreme depth.
But we know that we can see many bodies through clear and transparent
water. How, then, was it that no part of the earth appeared through the
water? Because the air which surrounded it was still without light and
in darkness. The rays of the sun, penetrating the water, often allow us
to see the pebbles which form the bed of the river, but in a dark night
it is impossible for our glance to penetrate under the water. Thus,
these words, "the earth was invisible," are explained by those that
follow; "the deep" covered it and itself was in darkness. Thus the deep
is not a multitude of hostile powers, as has been imagined; nor
"darkness" an evil sovereign force in enmity with good. In reality two
rival principles of equal power, if engaged without ceasing in a war of
mutual attacks, will end in self-destruction.
But if one should gain the mastery it would completely annihilate the
conquered. Thus, to maintain the balance in the struggle between good
and evil is to represent them as engaged in a war without end and in
perpetual destruction, where the opponents are at the same time
conquerors and conquered. If good is the stronger, what is there to
prevent evil from being completely annihilated? But if that be the case,
the very utterance of which is impious, I ask myself how it is that
they themselves are not filled with horror to think that they have
imagined such abominable blasphemies.
It is equally impious to say that evil has its origin from God; because
the contrary can not proceed from its contrary. Life does not engender
death; darkness is not the origin of light; sickness is not the maker of
health. In the changes of conditions there are transitions from one
condition to the contrary; but in genesis each being proceeds from its
like and from its contrary. If, then, evil is neither uncreated nor
created by God, from whence comes its nature? Certainly, that evil
exists no one living in the world will deny. What shall we say, then?
Evil is not a living animated essence: it is the condition of the soul
opposed to virtue, developed in the careless on account of their falling
away from good.
Do not, then, go beyond yourself to seek for evil, and imagine that
there is an original nature of wickedness. Each of us--let us
acknowledge it--is the first author of his own vice.
Among the ordinary events of life, some come naturally, like old age and
sickness; others by chance, like unforeseen occurrences, of which the
origin is beyond ourselves, often sad, sometimes fortunate--as, for
instance, the discovery of a treasure when digging a well, or the
meeting of a mad dog when going to the market-place.
Others depend upon ourselves; such as ruling one's passions, or not
putting a bridle on one's pleasures; the mastery of anger, or resistance
against him who irritates us; truth-telling or lying, the maintenance of
a sweet and well-regulated disposition, or of a mood fierce and swollen
and exalted with pride. Here you are the master of your actions. Do not
look for the guiding cause beyond yourself, but recognize that evil,
rightly so called, has no other origin than our voluntary falls. If it
were involuntary, and did not depend upon ourselves, the laws would not
have so much terror for the guilty, and the tribunals would not be so
pitiless when they condemn wretches according to the measure of their
crimes.
But enough concerning evil rightly so called. Sickness, poverty,
obscurity, death, finally all human afflictions, ought not to be ranked
as evils, since we do not count among the greatest boons things which
are their opposites. Among these afflictions some are the effect of
nature, others have obviously been for many a source of advantage. Let
us be silent for the moment about these metaphors and allegories, and,
simply following without vain curiosity the words of Holy Scripture, let
us take from darkness the idea which it gives us.
But reason asks, Was darkness created with the world? Is it older than
light? Why, in spite of its inferiority, has it preceded it? Darkness,
we reply, did not exist in essence; it is a condition produced in the
air by the withdrawal of light. What, then, is that light which
disappeared suddenly from the world so that darkness should cover the
face of the deep? If anything had existed before the formation of this
sensible and perishable world, no doubt we conclude it would have been
in the light. The orders of angels, the heavenly hosts, all intellectual
natures named or unnamed, all the ministering spirits, did not live in
darkness, but enjoyed a condition fitted for them in light and spiritual
joy.
No one will contradict this, least of all he who looks for celestial
light as one of the rewards promised to virtue--the light which, as
Solomon says, is always a light to the righteous, the light which made
the apostle say, "Giving thanks unto the Father, which hath made us meet
to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light." Finally, if
the condemned are sent into outer darkness, evidently those who are made
worthy of God's approval are at rest in heavenly light. When, then,
according to the order of God, the heaven appeared, enveloping all that
its circumference included, a vast and unbroken body separating outer
things from those which it enclosed, it necessarily kept the space
inside in darkness for want of communication with the outer light.
Three things are, indeed, needed to form a shadow: light, a body, a dark
place. The shadow of heaven forms the darkness of the world. Understand,
I pray you, what I mean, by a simple example--by raising for yourself at
midday a tent of some compact and impenetrable material, you shut
yourself up in sudden darkness. Suppose that original darkness was like
this, not subsisting directly by itself, but resulting from some
external causes. If it is said that it rested upon the deep, it is
because the extremity of air naturally touches the surface of bodies;
and as at that time the water covered everything, we are obliged to say
that darkness was upon the face of the deep.
"And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters?" Does this
Spirit mean the diffusion of air? The sacred writer wishes to enumerate
to you the elements of the world, to tell you that God created the
heavens, the earth, water and air, and that the last was now diffused
and in motion; or rather, that which is truer and confirmed by the
authority of the ancients, by the Spirit of God he means the Holy
Spirit. It is, as has been remarked, the special name, the name above
all others that Scripture delights to give to the Holy Spirit, and by
the Spirit of God the Holy Spirit is meant, the Spirit, namely, which
completes the divine and blessed Trinity. You will always find it
better, therefore, to take it in this sense. How, then, did the Spirit
of God move upon the waters? The explanation that I am about to give you
is not an original one, but that of a Syrian who was as ignorant in the
wisdom of this world as he was versed in the knowledge of the truth.
He said, then, that the Syriac word was more expressive, and that, being
more analogous to the Hebrew term, it was a nearer approach to the
Scriptural sense. This is the meaning of the word: by "moved" the
Syrians, he says, understand brooded over. The Spirit cherished the
nature of the waters as one sees a bird cover the eggs with her body and
impart to them vital force from her own warmth. Such is, as nearly as
possible, the meaning of these words--the Spirit moved: that is,
prepared the nature of water to produce living beings: a sufficient
proof for those who ask if the Holy Spirit took an active part in the
creation of the world.
"And God said, Let there be light." The first word uttered by God
created the nature of light; it made darkness vanish, dispelled gloom,
illuminated the world, and gave to all being at the same time a sweet
and gracious aspect. The heavens, until then enveloped in darkness,
appeared with that beauty which they still present to our eyes. The air
was lighted up, or rather made the light circulate mixed with its
substance, and, distributing its splendor rapidly in every direction, so
dispersed itself to its extreme limits. Up it sprang to the very ether
and heaven. In an instant it lighted up the whole extent of the world,
the north and the south, the east and the west. For the ether also is
such a subtle substance and so transparent that it needs not the space
of a moment for light to pass through it. Just as it carries our sight
instantaneously to the object of vision, so without the least interval,
with a rapidity that thought can not conceive, it receives these rays of
light in its uttermost limits. With light the ether becomes more
pleasing and the waters more limpid. These last, not content with
receiving its splendor, return it by the reflection of light and in all
directions send forth quivering flashes. The divine word gives every
object a more cheerful and a more attractive appearance, just as when
men pour in oil into the deep sea they make the place about them smooth.
So, with a single word and in one instant the Creator of all things gave
the boon of light to the world.
"Let there be light." The order was itself an operation, and a state of
things was brought into being than which man's mind can not even imagine
a pleasanter one for our enjoyment It must be well understood that when
we speak of the voice, of the word, of the command of God, this divine
language does not mean to us a sound which escapes from the organs of
speech, a collision of air struck by the tongue; it is a simple sign of
the will of God, and, if we give it the form of an order, it is only the
better to impress the souls whom we instruct.
"And God saw the light, that it was good." How can we worthily praise
light after the testimony given by the Creator to its goodness? The
word, even among us, refers the judgment to the eyes, incapable of
raising itself to the idea that the senses have already received. But if
beauty in bodies results from symmetry of parts and the harmonious
appearance of colors how, in a simple and homogeneous essence like
light, can this idea of beauty be preserved? Would not the symmetry in
light be less shown in its parts than in the pleasure and delight at the
sight of it? Such is also the beauty of gold, which it owes, not to the
happy mingling of its parts, but only to its beautiful color, which has
a charm attractive to the eyes.
Thus, again, the evening star is the most beautiful of the stars: not
that the parts of which it is composed form a harmonious whole, but
thanks to the unalloyed and beautiful brightness which meets our eyes.
And further, when God proclaimed the goodness of light, it was not in
regard to the charm of the eye, but as a provision for future advantage,
because at that time there were as yet no eyes to judge of its beauty.
"And God divided the light from the darkness." That is to say, God gave
them natures incapable of mixing, perpetually in opposition to each
other, and put between them the widest space and distance.
"And God called the light day, and the darkness he called night." Since
the birth of the sun, the light that it diffuses in the air when shining
on our hemisphere is day, and the shadow produced by its disappearance
is night. But at that time it was not after the movement of the sun, but
following this primitive light spread abroad in the air or withdrawn in
a measure determined by God, that day came and was followed by night.
"And the evening and the morning were the first day." Evening is then
the boundary common to day and night; and in the same way morning
constitutes the approach of night to day. It was to give day the
privileges of seniority that Scripture put the end of the first day
before that of the first night, because night follows day: for, before
the creation of light, the world was not in night, but in darkness. It
is the opposite of day which was called night, and it did not receive
its name until after day. Thus were created the evening and the
morning. Scripture means the space of a day and a night, and afterward
no more says day and night, but calls them both under the name of the
more important: a custom which you will find throughout Scripture.
Everywhere the measure of time is counted by days without mention of
nights. "The days of our years," says the Psalmist; "few and evil have
the days of the years of my life been," said Jacob; and elsewhere "all
the days of my life."
"And the evening and the morning were the first day," or, rather, one
day.--(_Revised Vers_). Why does Scripture say "one day," not "the first
day?" Before speaking to us of the second, the third, and the fourth
days, would it not have been more natural to call that one the first
which began the series? If it, therefore, says "one day," it is from a
wish to determine the measure of day and night and to combine the time
that they contain. Now, twenty-four hours fill up the space of one
day--we mean of a day and of a night; and if, at the time of the
solstices, they have not both an equal length, the time marked by
Scripture does not the less circumscribe their duration. It is as tho it
said: Twenty-four hours measure the space of a day, or a day is in
reality the time that the heavens, starting from one point, take to
return thither. Thus, every time that, in the revolution of the sun,
evening and morning occupy the world, their periodical succession never
exceeds the space of one day.
But we must believe that there is a mysterious reason for this? God, who
made the nature of time, measured it out and determined it by intervals
of days; and, wishing to give it a week as a measure, he ordered the
week to resolve from period to period upon itself, to count the movement
of time, forming the week of one day revolving seven times upon itself:
a proper circle begins and ends with itself. Such is also the character
of eternity, to revolve upon itself and to end nowhere. If, then, the
beginning of time is called "one day" rather than "the first day," it is
because Scripture wishes to establish its relationship with eternity. It
was, in reality, fit and natural to call "one" the day whose character
is to be one wholly separated and isolated from all others. If Scripture
speaks to us of many ages, saying everywhere "age of age, and ages of
ages," we do not see it enumerate them as first, second, and third. It
follows that we are hereby shown, not so much limits, ends, and
succession of ages as distinctions between various states and modes of
action. "The day of the Lord," Scripture says, "is great and very
terrible," and elsewhere, "Woe unto you that desire the day of the Lord:
to what end is it for you? The day of the Lord is darkness and not
light." A day of darkness for those who are worthy of darkness. No;
this day without evening, without succession, and without end is not
unknown to Scripture, and it is the day that the Psalmist calls the
eighth day, because it is outside this time of weeks. Thus, whether you
call it day or whether you call it eternity, you express the same idea.
Give this state the name of day; there are not several, but only one. If
you call it eternity still it is unique and not manifold. Thus it is in
order that you may carry your thoughts forward toward a future life that
Scripture marks by the word "one" the day which is the type of eternity,
the first-fruits of days, the contemporary of light, the holy Lord's
day.
But while I am conversing with you about the first evening of the world,
evening takes me by surprize and puts an end to my discourse. May the
Father of the true light, who has adorned day with celestial light, who
has made to shine the fires which illuminate us during the night, who
reserves for us in the peace of a future age a spiritual and everlasting
light, enlighten your hearts in the knowledge of truth, keep you from
stumbling, and grant that "you may walk honestly as in the day." Thus
shall you shine as the sun in the midst of the glory of the saints, and
I shall glory in you in the day of Christ, to whom belong all glory and
power for ever and ever. Amen.
CHRYSOSTOM
EXCESSIVE GRIEF AT THE DEATH OF FRIENDS
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
Chrysostom (that is, "Of the Golden Mouth") was a title given to John,
Archbishop of Constantinople. He was born of a patrician family at
Antioch about 347, and owed much to the early Christian training of his
Christian mother, Anthusa. He studied under Libanius, and for a time
practised law, but was converted and baptized in 368. He made a profound
study of the Scriptures, the whole of which, it is said, he learned to
repeat by heart.
Like Basil and Gregory he began his religious life as a hermit in the
desert. After six years he returned to Antioch, where he gained
reputation as the greatest preacher in the Eastern Church. Raised to the
metropolitan See of Constantinople in 397, his fulminations against the
corruptions of the court caused him to be banished, after a stormy
ministry of six years. He was recalled in response to popular clamor,
but removed again, and shortly after died, in 407. He was a great
exegete, and showed a spirit of intellectual liberty which anticipated
modern criticism. Sermons to the number of one thousand have been
attributed to him.
CHRYSOSTOM
347-407
EXCESSIVE GRIEF AT THE DEATH OF FRIENDS
_But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them
which are asleep, that ye sorrow not._--1 Thess. iv., 13.
We have occupied four days in explaining to you the parable of Lazarus,
bringing out the treasure that we found in a body covered with sores; a
treasure, not of gold and silver and precious stones, but of wisdom and
fortitude, of patience and endurance. For as in regard to visible
treasures, while the surface of the ground shows only thorns and briers,
and rough earth, yet, let a person dig deep into it, abundant wealth
discovers itself; so it has proved in respect to Lazarus. Outwardly,
wounds; but underneath these, unspeakable wealth; a body pining away,
but a spirit noble and wakeful. We have also seen an illustration of
that remark of the apostle's--in proportion as the outward man perishes,
the inward man is renewed.
It would, indeed, be proper to address you to-day, also, on this same
parable, and to enter the lists with those heretics who censure the Old
Testament, bringing accusations against the patriarchs, and whetting
their tongues against God, the Creator of the universe. But to avoid
wearying you and reserving this controversy for another time, let us
direct the discourse to another subject; for a table with only one sort
of food produces satiety, while variety provokes the appetite. That it
may be so in regard to our preaching, let us now, after a long period,
turn to the blest Paul; for very opportunely has a passage from the
apostle been read to-day, and the things which are to be spoken
concerning it are in harmony with those that have lately been presented.
Hear, then, Paul this day proclaiming--"I would not have you to be
ignorant concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not even as
others which have no hope." The parable of Lazarus is the evangelical
chord; this passage is the apostolic note. And there is concord between
them; for we have, on that parable, said much concerning the
resurrection and the future judgment, and our discourse now recurs to
that theme; so that, tho it is on apostolic ground we are now toiling,
we shall here find the same treasure. For in treating the parable, our
aim was to teach the hearers this lesson, that they should regard all
the splendors of the present life as nothing, but should look forward in
their hopes, and daily reflect on the decisions which will be hereafter
pronounced, and on that fearful judgment, and that Judge who can not be
deceived. On these things Paul has counseled us to-day in the passages
which have been read to us. Attend, however, to his own words--"I would
not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep,
that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope. For if we believe
that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus
will God bring with him."--I Thess. iv., 13, 14.
We ought here, at the outset, to inquire why, when he is speaking
concerning Christ, he employs the word death; but when he is speaking of
our decease he calls it sleep, and not death. For he did not say,
Concerning them that are dead: but what did he say? "Concerning them
that are asleep." And again--"Even so them also which sleep in Jesus
will God bring with Him." He did not say, Them that have died. Still
again--"We who are alive and remain unto the coming of the Lord shall
not prevent them that sleep." Here, too, he did not say--Them that are
dead; but a third time, bringing the subject to their remembrance, for
the third time called death a sleep. Concerning Christ, however, he did
not speak thus; but how? "For if we believe that Jesus died." He did not
say, Jesus slept, but He died. Why now did he use the term death in
reference to Christ, but in reference to us the term sleep? For it was
not casually, or negligently, that he employed this expression, but he
had a wise and great purpose in so doing. In speaking of Christ, he said
death, so as to confirm the fact that Christ had actually suffered
death; in speaking of us, he said sleep, in order to impart consolation.
For where resurrection had already taken place, he mentions death with
plainness; but where the resurrection is still a matter of hope, he says
sleep, consoling us by this very expression, and cherishing our valuable
hopes. For he who is only asleep will surely awake; and death is no more
than a long sleep.
Say not a dead man hears not, nor speaks, nor sees, nor is conscious. It
is just so with a sleeping person. If I may speak somewhat
paradoxically, even the soul of a sleeping person is in some sort
asleep; but not so the soul of a dead man; that is awake.
But, you say, a dead man experiences corruption, and becomes dust and
ashes. And what then, beloved hearers? For this very reason we ought to
rejoice. For when a man is about to rebuild an old and tottering house,
he first sends out its occupants, then tears it down, and rebuilds anew
a more splendid one. This occasions no grief to the occupants, but
rather joy; for they do not think of the demolition which they see, but
of the house which is to come, tho not yet seen. When God is about to
do a similar work, he destroys our body, and removes the soul which was
dwelling in it as from some house, that he may build it anew and more
splendidly, and again bring the soul into it with greater glory. Let us
not, therefore, regard the tearing down, but the splendor which is to
succeed.
If, again, a man has a statue decayed by rust and age, and mutilated in
many of its parts, he breaks it up and casts it into a furnace, and
after the melting he receives it again in a more beautiful form. As then
the dissolving in the furnace was not a destruction but a renewing of
the statue, so the death of our bodies is not a destruction but a
renovation. When, therefore, you see as in a furnace our flesh flowing
away to corruption, dwell not on that sight, but wait for the recasting.
And be not satisfied with the extent of this illustration, but advance
in your thoughts to a still higher point; for the statuary, casting into
the furnace a brazen image, does not furnish you in its place a golden
and undecaying statue, but again makes a brazen one. God does not thus;
but casting in a mortal body formed of clay, he returns to you a golden
and immortal statue; for the earth, receiving a corruptible and decaying
body gives back the same, incorruptible and undecaying. Look not,
therefore, on the corpse, lying with closed eyes and speechless lips,
but on the man that is risen, that has received glory unspeakable and
amazing, and direct your thoughts from the present sight to the future
hope.
But do you miss his society, and therefore lament and mourn? Now is it
not unreasonable, that, if you should have given your daughter in
marriage, and her husband should take her to a distant country and
should there enjoy prosperity, you would not think the circumstance a
calamity, but the intelligence of their prosperity would console the
sorrow occasioned by her absence; and yet here, while it is not a man,
nor a fellow servant, but the Lord Himself who has taken your relative,
that you should grieve and lament?
And how is it possible, you ask, not to grieve, since I am only a man?
Nor do I say that you should not grieve: I do not condemn dejection, but
the intensity of it. To be dejected is natural; but to be overcome by
dejection is madness, and folly, and unmanly weakness. You may grieve
and weep; but give not way to despondency, nor indulge in complaints.
Give thanks to God, who has taken your friend, that you have the
opportunity of honoring the departed one, and of dismissing him with
becoming obsequies. If you sink under depression, you withhold honor
from the departed, you displease God who has taken him, and you injure
yourself; but if you are grateful, you pay respect to him, you glorify
God, and you benefit yourself. Weep, as wept your Master over Lazarus,
observing the just limits of sorrow, which it is not proper to pass.
Thus also said Paul--"I would not have you to be ignorant concerning
them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not as others who have no hope.
Grieve," says he; "but not as the Greek, who has no hope of a
resurrection, who despairs of a future life."
Believe me, I am ashamed and blush to see unbecoming groups of women
pass along the mart, tearing their hair, cutting their arms and
cheeks--and all this under the eyes of the Greeks. For what will they
not say? What will they not declare concerning us? Are these the men who
reason about a resurrection? Indeed! How poorly their actions agree with
their opinions! In words, they reason about a resurrection: but they act
just like those who do not acknowledge a resurrection. If they fully
believed in a resurrection, they would not act thus; if they had really
persuaded themselves that a deceased friend had departed to a better
state, they would not thus mourn. These things, and more than these, the
unbelievers say when they hear those lamentations. Let us then be
ashamed, and be more moderate, and not occasion so much harm to
ourselves and to those who are looking on us.
For on what account, tell me, do you thus weep for one departed?
Because he was a bad man? You ought on that very account to be thankful,
since the occasions of wickedness are now cut off. Because he was good
and kind? If so, you ought to rejoice; since he has been soon removed,
before wickedness had corrupted him, and he has gone away to a world
where he stands even secure, and there is no reason even to mistrust a
change. Because he was a youth? For that, too, praise Him that has taken
him, because he has speedily called him to a better lot. Because he was
an aged man? On this account, also, give thanks and glorify Him that has
taken him. Be ashamed of your behavior at a burial. The singing of
psalms, the prayers, the assembling of the (spiritual) fathers and
brethren--all this is not that you may weep, and lament, and afflict
yourselves, but that you may render thanks to Him who has taken the
departed. For as when men are called to some high office, multitudes
with praises on their lips assemble to escort them at their departure to
their stations, so do all with abundant praise join to send forward, as
to greater honor, those of the pious who have departed. Death is rest, a
deliverance from the exhausting labors and cares of this world. When,
then, thou seest a relative departing, yield not to despondency; give
thyself to reflection; examine thy conscience; cherish the thought that
after a little while this end awaits thee also. Be more considerate; let
another's death excite thee to salutary fear; shake off all indolence;
examine your past deeds; quit your sins, and commence a happy change.
We differ from unbelievers in our estimate of things. The unbeliever
surveys the heavens and worships them, because he thinks them a
divinity; he looks to the earth and makes himself a servant to it, and
longs for the things of sense. But not so with us. We survey the heavens
and admire Him that made them; for we do not believe them to be a god,
but a work of God. I look on the whole creation, and am led by it to the
Creator. He looks on wealth, and longs for it with earnest desire; I
look on wealth, and contemn it. He sees poverty, and laments; I see
poverty, and rejoice. I see things in one light; he in another. Just so
in regard to death. He sees a corpse, and thinks of it as a corpse; I
see a corpse, and behold sleep rather than death. And as in regard to
books, both learned persons and unlearned see them with the same eyes,
but not with the same understanding--for to the unlearned the mere
shapes of letters appear, while the learned discover the sense that lies
within those letters--so in respect to affairs in general, we all see
what takes place with the same eyes, but not with the same understanding
and judgment. Since, therefore, in all other things we differ from
them, shall we agree with them in our sentiments respecting death?