Encomium in xl martyres i

Of the Same Author: Encomium on the Holy Forty Martyrs. Homily 1. I conjecture that what distresses the many, in these things I myself rejoice in my mind. For it is, as is likely, unpleasant to the many to be crowded together among themselves, but for me this is the chief of joy. For the eye of the shepherd rejoices seeing the flock crowded by its multitude and overflowing the fold; and yet the sheepfold is not small, but the flock, thriving in number, makes the spaciousness narrow. Something of this sort Peter, seeing concerning the Lord, answered, saying, "Master, the crowds press upon you and throng you." Indeed, as the divine Apostle says somewhere, this is to be pressed and not to be confined. "For," he says, "we are pressed, but not confined." But what speech shall I take up for such a gathering? Who will give me a voice louder than a trumpet, so that I may out-sound the multitude and deposit the words in the ears of those assembled? To which of the readings shall I turn my mind, so that I may find a speech suitable for those present? Much is Job, instructing life in courage by his own examples; much is the Proverb-writer with his riddles. And what might one say about the holy Apostle, who from those ineffable words which he says are beyond human understanding, perhaps through the teaching to the Ephesians also whispered to us the secret word in the cross, revealing it through riddles. Such other things also are the mysteries from the Psalter: remembrance, and pillar-writing, and vintage-press.

Having observed these things in the superscriptions of the psalms read to us, we see no small occasion given to the discourse through the riddles. But for me, to go through what has been said seems opportune to reserve for a second time; I desire, however, to find for the present grace some fitting and suitable utterance. What then is this? I know a certain law peculiar to nature, engraved on the very divine tablets by the lawgiver of nature, which commands that every good return be paid to one's own parents, as far as one's power allows. For it says, "Honor your father and your mother," which is the first commandment in promises, that it may go well with you. If this law is foremost according to promise, and the accomplishment of it becomes the specific gain of the one who observes it (for the honor paid to parents returns to the one who has fulfilled the law), it would be well for every person of understanding to look to this commandment, whose outcome becomes a benefit and grace to the one who has performed it. Now, the fathers of our flesh, having served the generation after them according to the time originally allotted to them, are in no need of our honor, having long since departed from life, so that it is not possible to fulfill such a law, since those who would receive the benefaction do not exist. But the law commands that we, being active, attain the promise. For it is not possible for those who are idle to have the rewards of those who are active. What then must one do, when the parents are no more, who both desires the promise and is unable to achieve this zeal?

Indeed, what is seen resolves this perplexity for us entirely. For looking at you, I have no need to investigate other fathers. For you are my fathers, the fathers even of my own fathers. For the fatherland of those who gave me birth contains within itself also the dignity of those who begot me. What then shall we do to fulfill for you the law of honor? For a grateful and affectionate child, renewing the old age of his father's years through his own care, supports the frailty of weakness, becoming everything to his father. Hence one may see the father growing young again in his child. And sometimes an aged and trembling hand, resting itself on the strength of youth, reaps the young man's power; and the movement of the feet, already faltering from the shriveling of the limbs, becomes active through the child's zeal, being propped up by the supporter. And if sight is dimmed by time, again through the child the old man becomes sharp-sighted, being led by the hand to the necessities of life. But you, the fatherland, are not so situated as to need any of these things. What then shall we do to reap the blessing of the commandment? What gift of those pleasing to you shall we offer, since none of the good things are lacking to you? Or would even the recounting of the good qualities that belong to you be a form of the honor owed to you? Therefore, it would be the time to speak of what sort and how many are the things with which your life is adorned. Or rather, it is possible not only to speak but also to show them. But where do you think I am speaking of these common and obvious things? The fertility of the land, the abundance of crops, and the river that divides the settlement?

I mean this river, which encloses its stream in the circle of the plain and becomes a lake, and which, both before becoming a lake and after, is divided for the need of each of the inhabitants, and passes through, artfully creating groves and meadows, and provides countless graces to those dwelling there, dividing itself for every desire of the city's inhabitants. Let others say these things, for whom speech serves for pomp and brings some ambition to the trained, increasing praise for the fatherland from such things. But let some worldly man, knowing how to judge what is good in this life, add to the praises, if he wishes, also the other river. I mean this neighbor, which, being counted among the famous rivers of the inhabited world because of its size, beginning from our region, passes by the city in time, contributing no small grace from itself as an addition of beauty and of cooperation for life through itself. And if it is necessary to enumerate founders, or to exalt the lineages of the inhabitants from a colony, or some achievements of a military hand in our narratives—trophies, battles, and wonders of valor, as many as the children of writers have deposited in books—these are far from our chorus. For Christian speech is ashamed to bestow praises on those who love Christ from things outside the faith, like those who exalt the shadow of a hero before the trophies. Therefore, let the speech turn to the present, and bring before our eyes your fruit.

Let the beauties of the world be silent, even if such a subject for encomiums abounds in the discourse from an excess of material. For neither the whole heaven, which is indeed the most beautiful and greatest of all things in creation, nor the rays of the luminaries, nor the breadth of the earth, nor any other of the elements that underlie the universe as a foundation, does the divinely inspired word know as something great and worthy of wonder. I have been taught by the divine commandment to be disposed with wonder toward nothing that passes away. If, then, the whole heaven and the earth will pass away, and the entire form of the world passes away, as the Apostle says, how could anyone consider it seemly to set forth the fertility of earth and water as a basis for praise? For even if your region possesses more of such advantages of the earth than others do, yet in comparison with your own goods, the discourse knows to pass over those as nothing. Therefore, let us turn our praises toward what is more honorable by nature. And these things will no longer be shown to us through words, but it is possible to look directly at the very sum of your blessings. For who does not know your fruit, that you have put forth this ear of martyrs, so rich in grain,

and spreading beyond thirty in the abundance of its fruits. Behold this sacred field: from it come the sheaves of the martyrs. If you seek to learn what field I mean, do not look far from the present. What is the place that contains the assembly? What does the annual cycle of the year tell you? What narratives does the remembrance of this day bring you? Are they not certain utterances, as the Prophet says, and words, whose voices are heard not only, but which narrate the marvels more vigorously than any speech? If you look at the place, it itself declares it is the stadium of the martyrs; if you consider the day, like a loud-voiced herald it proclaims the crown of the martyrs. I seem to hear these things from the day crying out: that one day is honored by the creation of the luminaries, another by the heaven, and another exults in the construction of the earth. But for me, the marvels of the martyrs suffice for adornment; it suffices to take pride in the beauty of their crowns; it suffices to exult in the trophies against the devil. What narratives have occurred in me! What an addition has been made through me to the angels! What fruit has the earth given to God! What a planting has the Lord planted in me! Hence almost the whole inhabited world has been planted with the offshoots of the vines from here, like a flourishing vine, which produces other vines through itself, and itself remains inexhaustible. These and such things the grace of the day seems to proclaim, and the place of the assembly proclaims other such things.

But what am I to do before so great a crowd, being myself of thin voice and slow tongue, and barely speaking audibly to those present, while the noise drowns out the word? For I would have lingered over the good narratives, how the fair company of the forty have made their contest common, and their settlement common everywhere, and are distributed everywhere, and are entertained by one another in the places. Therefore no one who has received a portion of the relics has received the manifestation of the martyrs from the whole. For having become one in the Lord, all of them, through one, are installed with their entire complement. But how is it possible not to wrong the discourse, by passing over in silence the beginning of the narratives concerning them? What then is the beginning? Good and conspicuous youth, excellent faith, on account of which all were chosen, distinguished in beauty, like saplings in the bloom of their prime. Do you see the voice disturbed by the uproar, and the word broken by the noise, so that we, as if storm-tossed on some wave-swept sea by the voices of the people, are compelled to take refuge in the waveless harbor of silence? But if it should be granted us by the grace of God, and there be leisure for the second part of the discourse in the quiet of the audience, what has now been omitted will be fulfilled with the help of God. Glory to Him unto the ages of ages. Amen.

Second Discourse. Yesterday the martyrs summoned the people to themselves; now they come unbidden as guests to the lodging of the Church. There is a certain custom of the banquet, that these circular feasts are given by the guests to one another in turn. Therefore it is necessary that we also repay the same contribution of the feast to the martyrs. But since our supply of speech is poor, it is fitting that we entertain ourselves with the relics of those same men, who yesterday were hosts and today are guests. For even a small portion from a rich table suffices to provide a great banquet, when such a relic is present. What then is this relic? You surely remember at what point we were in the discourse, when that welcome and sweet uproar from the multitude of those gathered together confounded the hearing of what was being said, when that living sea of the Church, swelling with the multitude of those streaming in, surged with the inclination of those ever pressing forward, imitating even in its sound the real sea, as it were dashing the noise of the waves against our very ears. At what point, then, we left the discourse, tossed about by the uproar, you surely remember, to whom it is a practice to hold the martyrs in memory. It was, I think, this sequence of the discourse: that those chosen for this contest were not ordinary men, nor was it some mixed and nameless crowd, who, starting from humble pursuits, were raised to this dignity; but first, on account of natural fitness of body, excelling the rest in beauty and strength and abundance of vigor, they were enrolled in the military lists.

After this, having distinguished themselves by a life of virtue and a temperate conduct, they received the grace of martyrdom as a kind of prize and reward, perfected thereby. And if it seems good, that we may take greater pleasure, let us take up in order all the deeds of the martyrs, bringing the contest before the eyes of this present audience. There was an ancient military unit in the neighboring city, stationed before the whole nation against the incursions of the barbarians. Among them, by reason of some pre-existing divine manifestation, faith was cultivated more than military tactics. And perhaps it is not untimely to relate in passing one particular achievement of the faith of those men. For once, when war with the barbarians had broken out against them, and all the strategic points had been seized beforehand by the enemy army, and the waters had come under the control of the foe, they fell into extreme danger, whether through the inexperience of those commanding our forces, or through some superior and more divine dispensation, so that through this especially the difference of the Christians from the foreigners might be made manifest. Since they had no resource to meet the present circumstances, and there was great perplexity, no spring or outflow of water appearing in the place, and there was danger of their yielding to the enemy, besieged as they were by thirst, then the noble men, abandoning the aid of arms, resolved to invoke the invincible and unconquerable alliance in fearful situations.

Leaving behind in the camp those who had not yet accepted the faith, and separating themselves, they imitate the miracle that occurred in the case of the prophet Elijah, asking with a common and concerted voice that deliverance from their desperate plight be granted them. And some prayed; the prayer immediately became a deed. For while they were still persisting in their kneeling, a cloud, caught up from somewhere by a violent wind, stood suspended above the enemy camp; then, after thundering with extraordinary claps and hurling fiery lightning bolts against those below, it poured down water more abundant than rivers, so that for the adversaries, both the continuous thunderbolts and the abundance of the rainstorm became the cause of total destruction; while for these men, who had arrayed themselves through prayers, it sufficed for both purposes: for victory over those arrayed against them and for relief from thirst, since the runoff of the torrents abundantly supplied them with drink. To these, then, our chorus of the army was joined; and from those narratives they themselves were confirmed in the faith, and nurtured in similar practices, they were raised to such greatness of spirit that, by the excess of their virtue, they stirred up envy against themselves. For just as we learned from the story of Job, which has just been read to us, that the adversary of human life made Job’s good repute an injustice of his own, and for this reason demanded him for torture, because Job, being true and righteous and blameless, grieved him—

In the same way, the one who envies the good saw these great athletes with an evil eye, and could not bear to see the greyness of character in the youth of their age. He saw the bloom of bodies adorned with self-control; he saw a kind of armed choral dance, as through the army they danced for God, beautiful to behold, fierce of eye, proud in spirit, swift of foot, abundant in strength, well-proportioned in limb, and in all the advantages present in them the virtue of the soul shining forth beyond the good fortune of the body. He who walks through the world walks also through them with envy. He saw not one true man, but a divine company of so many men, all true, just, and god-fearing; he demands them also for his own will. And first he becomes an adviser to the idol-mad commander of the army, that he could not otherwise prevail in victory over the barbarians unless he first sacrificed those who worship the name of Christ. When these men were revealed as quickly as possible through their good confession, and were deserting to perfection through suffering, the Enemy declined to bring immediate death by the sword (as something humane), but after oppressing them with iron chains, he made this the beginning of their punishment. For them, however, even the chain was an ornament, and a delightful and sweet sight for Christian eyes: chosen youth in such number, distinguished in beauty, surpassing others in age, all together bound with one another by the chain, like a crown or a necklace having equal-sized pearls arranged in a circle.

Such were the saints, united by faith and bound together by their chains. For each was beautiful in himself, and they became an addition of beauty to one another. As happens with the wonders of the heavens, when through a clear and pure sky the grace of the stars is variegated through one another, each contributing its own radiance to the common adornment of the sky. Such was the spectacle of the saints, truly, as the prophet Ezekiel says somewhere, a vision of torches whirling together. The discourse lingers over the beauty of the season. For it knows, as Wisdom says, from the magnitude and beauty of created things to infer also the hidden beauty, since the purity of the soul shone through the visible, and the visible man was a worthy dwelling for the invisible. How beautiful, then, was the spectacle for those who saw it then! Beautiful, I say, for those who wish to see beautiful things, beautiful for angels, beautiful for the supracosmic powers; but bitter for demons, and for those who embraced the ways of demons—men (if indeed they were men, who had so far departed from the greatness of nature), soldiers of Christ, armed by the Holy Spirit, champions of the faith, towers of the divine city, who mocked every torture of punishments, every uprising of fears, every assault of threats, as some childish folly; as if they had not surrendered their bodies to the torments, but the shadows of their bodies; who, wrestling down the flesh with the flesh, and by their contempt for death despising all tyrannical fears, showed themselves higher than human measures.

Oh, how well they practiced with bodily trophies! Oh, how well they transferred their experience of war to the battle line against the devil, not arming their hands with a sword, nor holding before them a shield of wood, nor fencing themselves with a bronze helmet and greaves, but taking up the panoply of God, which the general of the Church, the divine Apostle, describes: shield, breastplate, helmet, and sword. Thus they advanced against the opposing power. The heavenly grace was the general of these; but of the devil's battle line, the one who holds the power of death was the general. The place of their battle line was the tribunal of the murderers. There, having taken their stand, they contended: some were skirmished with threats, others defended themselves through endurance. The proposition from the adversaries was to abjure faith in the Lord or to be penalized with death. The response from the champions was to remain with the Word until death. Fire was threatened against them, and sword, and pit, and all other names of torments. One voice was heard in response to all these: Christ was confessed in the mouths of the saints. This was the blow against the adversaries. They extended this spear point against the enemy. Through this voice, the Adversary was wounded in the middle of his heart. This is the stone slung in the hand of David, which struck the helmet of the Adversary. For the confession of Christ becomes a sling for the good soldier. The Enemy falls and becomes headless.

But the discourse has been carried away, bolting like a horse, and leaps beyond its bounds, and dares to speak of the unspeakable, and is led to say, as though it had become a spectator of the invisible, that at such a voice confessing Christ with boldness, there was applause above and praise from the holy angels, and acclamation from the citizens of the heavenly city clapping at the achievement, and joy from the whole assembly in heaven. For what a spectacle was then constituted for the angels in the world of men! What a contest they saw between the devil and men, the spectators of our life! How contrary it was to the first struggle, when the serpent wrestled down Adam! Then man did not endure a single assault of the Evil One, brought against him through some fair complexion and enticement, but at once he fell and was overturned by the fall. But in the case of these men, all the wrestlings of the Enemy were idle and ineffective. He held out hopes, but they trampled them underfoot; he threatened fears, but they laughed at them. Only one thing was fearful to them: to be separated from Christ; one thing good: to be with Christ alone; all else was laughter and shadow and nonsense and dreamlike phantoms. For this reason the discourse dares to speak of the unseen, and says that the whole supramundane power rejoiced at the achievement of the athletes. Still the discourse grows bold against the undared.

it dares to narrate the supramundane things, that while these deeds were being accomplished here, in the conflict against the adversaries the righteous umpire held forth the crowns for victory, and the commander-in-chief of the divine power prepared the prizes for the victors, and the Holy Spirit honored them with manifold gifts. For since faith was confessed in the Trinity, therefore grace was measured out to them in return by the Trinity. And what was this grace? It was this very thing: to be shown as loftier than the first contestants—I mean Adam and Eve. They, when human nature stood upright, brought it down through sin; these, when it lay prostrate in the fall of those who preceded, through endurance raised it up again. They were thrust from paradise to earth; these were transferred from here to paradise. They armed death against themselves (for sin is the weapon of death, it is said); these rendered death, armed with sin, useless through their own courage, blunting the point of its sting by the endurance of their sufferings—so that one might well say, "Where is your sting, O death? Where is your victory, O Hades?" What is more wretched than the fruit of a tree? What is more worthless than a tree? A fruit colored with some beauty and pleasure of taste caused the grace of paradise to be dishonored. But to these great contestants not even the sun appeared sweet; rather, they willingly estranged themselves even from it, lest they fall away from the true light. What does the account say about Eve (for I am impelled to run down the firstborn even beyond what is proper)?

He saw, it is said, that it was pleasing to the eyes and beautiful to the taste. Then they exchanged the grace in these things for paradise. For them, the pleasure of taste was in what was seen: sky, sun, earth, people; fatherland, mothers, brothers, friends, relatives, contemporaries. What is sweeter to behold than these? What is more precious to come to taste? You know, children, the affection for parents. You know, fathers, the disposition toward children. You know, the one who sees the sweetness in the sun; you are not ignorant, the lover of brothers, of the natural bond with brotherhood; you understand, the young one, the grace from contemporaries, how much they sweeten your life. But for them, everything was hostile, everything was alien. Only one thing was good: Christ. They denied everything in order to gain Him. The time of the bonds was not short, and for the saints, with the prolongation of the punishment, the desire for perfection grew together. And just as those who train for physical fitness, when they have acquired sufficient strength under a trainer, then confidently proceed to the contests, in the same way these, having been sufficiently trained through bonds and imprisonment for piety, were thus led to the crown of the contests. The sequence of the account came to the end, or rather to the summit of the entire achievement. This was the time; these were the days of the contest; this was the prelude to Easter, the mystery of the holy forty days. Forty days of expiation for us, equal in number to the crowns of the saints.

Do I seem to you to be superfluous and garrulous, recounting your own marvels among you and delighting your ears with your own tales? Yet, lest my speech pass you by incomplete, we too will hasten with the saints to the end of their contests. There was a frost on that day. But surely you need learn nothing of what the frost was like, judging from the present day—a frost that penetrates even the hairs themselves. You know the excess, both you who are newcomers to these places and you who are natives, and you need not learn it by word; but even if another were to tell of the wonder-working of your winters—how rivers that flow everlastingly stand still, as the freezing opposes the current and petrifies the waves; and how the neighboring lake requires certain signs to be recognized as a lake, having become dry land through freezing, upon which it is customary for those who wish to ride on horseback above its waves. I know that often water is produced from fire by the locals, when they break off a piece of the water, like some bronze or iron, melt it with fire, and make the stone into water. Such was the season at the time of the martyrdom, the evil having intensified beyond nature from the northern winds, as one may hear from those who recount the marvels. Since, then, they had splendidly proclaimed the name of the Lord publicly and had already shown themselves to be victors through such a proclamation, and were proceeding to the consummation through death, this manner of martyrdom was devised for them: an edict was issued by the tyrant to punish the athletes with frost.

Oh the weakness of both words and thoughts! How far the speech falls short of the worth! A command of death, and frost, and punishment, and expectation of such torment; and the blessed youth, with laughter and play and cheerfulness, were taking possession of the place of punishment. It was a race of athletes toward the passion, a sacred and intense race; and a rivalry to snatch the crown of confession first. Their zeal for victory was equal; no one was seen to be behind in eagerness; but all with one accord, having taken possession of this place, as if it were then a public bath at leisure, and as if they themselves were about to brighten their bodies with the bath, they readily laid aside the covering of their garments, all reciting the saying of Job: "Naked we came into the world, naked we shall depart to the one who brought us in; we brought nothing into the world, we ought to carry nothing out; rather, having entered naked, we shall depart full of treasures from the good confession.

Saying these things and encouraging themselves with such words, they gave their bodies over to the freezing. And the nature of the elements was overcome by the frost, but the nature of the martyrs was as if unenslaved; or rather, nature suffered its own and received the painful things, while the magnanimity of the athletes contended even against nature itself. For their strength was gradually dissolved, withering and being consumed by the frost, but the tension of their soul became greater. The bloom of the body darkened, its beauty faded, the good complexion of the flesh withered away; fingers fell off, gradually cut off by the frost, and all limbs and sense organs were shattered by the bitterness of the cold. For the flesh, gradually becoming livid, swelling and being torn apart at the joints, fell away from the bones, and they received the sufferings of death while still conscious. And thus death, advancing little by little, was prolonged for them, extending over three days. For as long as their consciousness lasted, they remained in the order in which they had been placed from the beginning, becoming victors over the enemy in all things. But who could narrate for me what followed in a manner worthy of it? What speech could describe that divine procession, when the holy bodies were paraded on wagons to the fire? How, instead of the one stolen by the devil, the jailer was brought in to complete the number by grace?

Who will tell me of that mother, worthy root of the martyr, who, when her son was left behind by the executioner because he was still breathing and for that reason not taken up with the others onto the cart, when she saw the executioner’s humanity toward the champion, could not bear the insult? But she reviled him for cutting off the athlete from his fellow combatants; and she herself, standing by the martyr, already benumbed and motionless from the freezing, and seeing him gasping with a cold and feeble breath, living only enough to feel the pains, looking at his mother with a dim and withered gaze, nodding and comforting her with a dead and strengthless hand, exhorting her to bear it nobly. When the mother saw these things, did she feel anything maternal? Were her bowels stirred, or did she tear her garment, or embrace her child, warming his wasting with her warm arms? Away with that. Even to say such a thing is absurd. Truly we know the tree from its fruit; a rotten tree cannot produce good fruit. Since the fruit of martyrdom is good, praise the mother who bore such a child, saved through childbearing, as the Apostle says. For by presenting such fruit to God, she made apology for the common nature of women. "You are not my child," she says, "not the offspring of my labor; having received God, you were born according to God. You have received the power to become a child of God.

Run to your Father; do not be left behind by your comrades; do not come second for the crown; do not make your mother’s prayer incomplete. You will not grieve your mother, having become a crown-bearer, a victor, and a trophy-bearer. Saying these things, and having braced herself beyond nature—or rather, having been braced by the Spirit—she herself placed him who was from her upon the cart with the rest, escorting the athlete with a radiant face. And what followed after these things? The saints contended with the air; they sanctified even the fire by their addition, becoming fuel for the flame. They brought blessing also upon the water. Through all things the divine oracles were fulfilled. The three youths include both cold and heat in their common hymnody: the cold, through freezing; the heat, through burning; then they passed through fire and water. But the discourse desires to pass over these things as known, and now at the opportune time to examine something of what was previously sought: When man was exiled from Paradise, a fiery revolving sword was appointed to guard the entrance. And the reason for such providence of God was that man should not pass to the tree of life, touch it, and remain immortal. You certainly remember the matters that were investigated; you remember, as is likely, also the solutions found by us for what was sought. But if we were to go through it again from the beginning, and the whole

to take up the discourse in detail will be an extension beyond the present occasion. Now this was the question under investigation: whether paradise is inaccessible even to the saints because of the turning sword; and whether the athletes are shut out of paradise; what then is the promise for which they undertake the contests of piety, and whether they will have less than the thief, to whom the Lord said, Today you will be with me in paradise? And yet the thief did not approach the cross willingly; but because he came near to salvation, the sharp and clever thief saw the treasure, and seizing the opportunity he plundered life, having used his thievish skill well and accurately, saying, Lord, remember me in your kingdom. Then that one is deemed worthy of paradise; but in the case of the saints, does the fiery sword block the entrance? Or does the question have its solution from the outset? For this reason the account did not show the sword always standing facing those who enter, but also made it turning, so that to the unworthy it appears face to face, but to the worthy, turning, it becomes at their back, opening for them an unhindered entrance to life; within which those have entered, having passed through the flame without suffering, by the confidence of their contests. May we also, having passed through it fearlessly, come within paradise, strengthened by their intercession for the good confession of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom is glory for ever and ever. Amen.