Adversus eos qui non adfuerant

A hortatory homily delivered in the church of Saint Anastasia to those who were absent, and a demonstration concerning the contests and labors of the blessed and righteous Job. 1. The fewer the congregation is than usual, the greater the zeal we shall employ. For it would not be right for the negligence of those who are absent to mar our diligence; but on this very account we shall set forth a more abundant table, so that those who were not present, learning by experience the loss they have suffered, may become more diligent in attending these gatherings in the future. Therefore I also exhort your love to pay attention to what is said; for thus the profit will be twofold for you: for by conveying what is said to those who are absent, you will make them more diligent, and you will render your own soul more philosophical. For just as the nature of the earth, when neglected, produces evil weeds, but when it continually enjoys the hands of the farmer, yields ripe fruit, so also the soul of a man: the one lying in idleness brings forth thorns of transgressions, while the one enjoying care bears the flourishing fruit of virtue. Hence a certain wise man exhorts, saying: "Like a field is a foolish man, and like a vineyard is a man lacking sense; if you abandon it, it will become barren and overgrown with weeds." So that this may not happen now, we continually wield the sickle of discourse; and if something evil sprouts, we constantly cut it off; but if something is ripe and fruitful, we nourish and water it and bring it to maturity, showing continuous care. For we need a twofold providence, or rather even a threefold.

one, that we may be delivered from vice; another, that we may acquire virtue; and after these, that we may preserve the virtue we have acquired—a task requiring the greatest effort, since that wicked demon, who begrudges our goods, attacks those who have succeeded with greater force. And just as pirates and wreckers pass by ships laden with sand, but if they see a vessel carrying a costly cargo and wealth stored within, they attack it, boring from below, assailing from above, and setting every device in motion, so too the devil is accustomed to attack, envy, and plot against those who have amassed the greatest virtue. Thus, there were so many men throughout the world in the time of Job, yet he stripped for battle against that one alone and set all his engines in motion; but he could not cause a shipwreck; rather, he made the cargo greater and the merchandise more abundant. For such is virtue: when assailed, it becomes stronger; when plotted against, it becomes more secure. This indeed happened to that blessed man, who, assailed from all sides, stood more securely, and receiving countless missiles, did not give way, but emptied the devil's quiver, yet did not fall or stumble; but like an excellent helmsman, he was neither overwhelmed when the sea raged and the waves rose, nor did he become more negligent when there was calm; but in each difference of circumstances he preserved his skill equally, and neither wealth puffed him up nor poverty humbled him.

Neither, then, when affairs were running smoothly, was he supine and relaxed, nor when nearly the whole household was overturned and utter ruin had occurred, was he disturbed and did he betray his own courage. Let the rich hear, let the poor hear; for the narrative is useful to both. Rather, the history is beneficial to all people, both to those in prosperity and to those in misfortunes. For the champion of piety, the crown-bearer of the world, having wielded both kinds of arms, set up his trophy in each, and when that demon came against him in every form of warfare, he arrayed himself against all, and in all he was proclaimed victor. And just as a noble soldier, skilled in fighting by night, in storming walls, in naval combat, in land battle, in archery, in brandishing a spear, in slinging and javelin-throwing, and in prevailing over the enemy by every mode of combat and conquering everywhere, so too that noble man bore every trial with great courage: the trial from poverty, from famine, from disease, from pain, from the loss of his children, from friends, from enemies, from his wife, from his servants. For there was no human calamity that was not poured out upon his body. Yet he rose above all the nets and became higher than the devil's reeds. And what is more remarkable, all these things assailed him, and all with excess, and all at once. For do not see only that he suffered so many things, but add that they came not gradually nor at intervals, but all at once and together. And this is no small addition to the trials.

For among all other men, first of all, no one would be found to have endured everything at once; but if one struggles with poverty, yet he enjoys health; and if he is pierced by both poverty and disease, yet he often enjoys a wife who comforts him to bear the hardships and becomes a harbor for him; and if he does not enjoy such a wife, yet she does not counsel ruinous things; and if she does counsel ruinous things, yet he has not lost all his children at once; and if he has lost them at once, yet not by such a manner of death; and if by such a manner of death, yet he had friends to console him; and if he had no friends to console him, yet they did not also trample upon him in this way; and if they did trample upon him, yet his servants did not reproach him; and if they did reproach him, yet they did not spit in his face; and if they did spit in his face, yet he was not pierced by so great a disease; and if he was pierced by so great a disease, yet he enjoyed a chamber and shelter, and did not sit on a dunghill; and if he did sit on a dunghill, yet he had those who stretched out a hand; and if he had no one to stretch out a hand, yet there were not those who trampled upon him. But this man endured all these things, and what is more marvelous, as I said earlier, that he endured them all at once, which makes the hardships appear double and triple, when the one struggling does not even have the consolation of a respite, but by the continuity of the affliction the turmoil becomes greater and the disturbance more severe—which is what happened in his case.

For the loss of the sheep and the conflagration was succeeded by the seizure of the cattle, and that by the removal of the donkeys, and that by the capture of the camels and the slaughter of the servants, and that by the loss of the children and that dreadful and novel death, and the more horrifying tomb—for the same thing was both death and tomb at once—and the table, which now received the bodies feasted, now cut up, and the bowls and cups receiving blood along with the wine, and the dismembered limbs. Yet even this harsh tragedy was awaited by other, harsher things, without their having drawn even a brief breath. For from there came the springs of worms, the streams of ichor, the sitting on the dunghill, the potsherd scraping the ribs, the stench of the ulcers introducing that novel famine, and preventing them from touching food even when it was seen, and instilling a disgust more severe than the famine; and these things not for two, ten, twenty, or a hundred days, but for several months. And not even here did the struggles cease, but while he was in these and being roasted from all sides, from within and without, the machinations of the woman also assailed him. For the wife becomes the weapon of the demon, and she shoots at her husband, having lent her tongue to the devil, and hurls the arrows of the things mentioned.

more bitter and more destructive. And not even here did the struggles come to an end, but it was again a beginning and a prelude to the battle array. For since the devil gained nothing further from this, the chorus of friends arrived, displaying in the guise of sympathy the actions of enemies, and they leap upon him as he lay, and they tear open his wounds, succeeding one another and not even allowing him to breathe, and encircling him in many circles, dancing some grievous dance. Should I also speak of the unbearable trial of the night, which was itself both novel and extraordinary? For all other men, even if they suffer countless evils, even if they inhabit prisons, even if they are bound in chains, even if they lament misfortunes, even if they endure bodily mutilation, even if they are oppressed by poverty, even if by disease, even if by labors, even if by hardships, nevertheless when night comes it brings a remedy of consolation, releasing the body from toils, relaxing the soul from cares; but in his case at that time, even the harbor became a reef, and the remedy became a wound, and the consolation was some addition of pain more grievous, and the storm became more terrible in the night which provides calm for all men; and he fled as if from the waves of the day, because of those unbearable pains, but he encountered cross-seas and whirlwinds and reefs and rocks, so that he again sought the waves of the day. Therefore indeed he himself, describing this novel suffering, cried out saying: If I sleep, I say: When will it be day? If I rise, I say: When will it be evening? Why, tell me? For by day you naturally seek the night;

For he calls night "evening," as providing all with a release from the day's evils. And when night came, with its calm and forgetfulness of those pains and cares, why do you again seek the day? Because the night was more grievous to me than the day; for it does not provide me with a release from my labors, but rather an intensification, and disturbances, and turmoil. And recounting this very thing, he said: "You frighten me in dreams, and you terrify me in visions." For he was terrified, seeing fearful sights during the night, and enduring unbearable fear, great distraction, and consternation. 3. Have you not grown weary hearing these successive calamities? But he did not grow weary suffering them. Therefore I beseech your love to wait a little longer; for we have not yet told the whole, nor have we added the other excess. For one thing was that he endured all the evils among men in one body; another, that all came together, and he had not even a brief respite. I wish also to mention a third. What then is this? That each of the things mentioned came not only not simultaneously, but also with great excess and vehemence; for the poverty was more grievous than any poverty, the disease, the confinement, the loss of children, the loss of all possessions. Consider: Has someone lost his possessions? But not so completely, nor in such a manner. Has he lost children? But never all at once, nor so many, nor such children. Has he fallen into disease? But not such a disease, but either fevers, or mutilation, or some other common affliction. That blow was something strange, and clear only to the sufferer.

No word could represent the bitterness of those sores and the pain of the wounds, but it is enough only to mention the one who inflicted them and his uncontrollable wrath to indicate the magnitude of the blow. And the seat was both novel and strange; for there is, there is no one so poor who ever sat outdoors for the whole time as he endured, naked of garments, deprived of all shelter, sitting ulcerated on a dunghill. Someone has had a wicked wife often, but no one has ever been so wicked as to attack her husband in such a calamity, to whet a sword against his soul, and to counsel such counsels. And the behavior of his friends is strange, and that of his servants; and the famine is again more novel, because, with the table set before him, he did not taste it. Shall I mention a fourth excess? I mean the wealth before and the prosperity. For one who lived from the beginning in poverty would have borne this more easily, having practiced the suffering; but one brought down from such prosperity, due to lack of training and practice, likely endures a more severe sensation, a more bitter pain, and a greater disturbance. It is possible to mention a fifth: what is this? That each of the other men, knowing many evil things in himself, knows the cause of what he suffers; and this is no small thing for consolation; but he did not even have this to consider, that he was paying the penalty for transgressions and sins; this especially disturbed his reason.

When he looked upon his own life, and his conscience shining brighter than the sun, and the multitude of his achievements, he knew that he was worthy of crowns and prizes and countless rewards. But when he looked upon his body and the sores and all that had befallen him, seeing himself suffering more severely than those who had dared the worst, he could not even find the reason why he suffered these things. Therefore, taking refuge in the incomprehensibility of God's economy, he said: "As it seemed good to the Lord, so it came to pass." And also, silencing his wife with what was appropriate, he composed a reasoning that greatly displayed his piety, speaking thus: "If we have received good things from the Lord, shall we not bear the bad?" Shall I mention another surpassing point, one that especially crowns and proclaims that athlete, and shows his lofty soul reaching to the heavens? What then is this? The difference in time: for having lived before grace and before the law, he philosophized in such a manner. This is no small thing, but one capable of weaving countless crowns. For the same achievements do not receive the same rewards when one has accomplished them in earlier times and another in later times; rather, the former receives much greater ones. For it is not the same, when Christ had come and displayed so much and exhorted and advised philosophy, as it is to display such things before his coming and before the law and before the prophets. For this reason, when he did come, he demands a greater addition of virtue, saying:

Unless your righteousness exceeds that of the Scribes and Pharisees, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven. For to the extent that teaching has increased, to that extent he set more just and greater measures of virtue. But this man, having enjoyed no teaching, having encountered no letters, no books, having seen no others, and not being able to run back to an earlier time and consider those who had succeeded—for there was as yet no scripture or history transmitting what had happened—but on an untrodden path, on an unplowed sea, in such a darkness of vice, alone and first he then cut this path of philosophy, having been shown to be the extreme in the chief of goods with surpassing excellence. For it is a very great thing to accomplish the lesser parts of virtue, but much greater to be the most extreme in the most extreme of all; and that the most extreme of all is endurance, no one will deny. Knowing this, then, even the devil himself said: "Skin for skin, and everything that belongs to a man he will give for his soul; but nevertheless, stretch out your hand and touch his flesh." Hence it is clear that this achievement is the most extreme of all, and requires a certain vigorous and iron soul. 4. Did you see him in the trials, as far as it was possible for you to see? For not even speech itself was able to represent the exactness. For no power of speech can interpret to those who have heard the pain and tortures and tyranny of despondency and the disturbance arising from so many snowflakes, as the experience of the events themselves can.

Let me bring you another example. For this too is no small matter, but requires a soul of profound wisdom, one who displays great philosophy in wealth and prosperity. Who then was this wealthy man? A common harbor for all, a common father for all, a common physician—or rather, greater than a physician. Listen to him speaking: "I was an eye for the blind, a foot for the lame." Do you see how he was greater than a physician, becoming for the maimed a substitute for nature? And what physicians could not correct by their art, he restored by his consolation, becoming for them, through his great care, a replacement for their limbs. For just as if they were healthy, sound of foot, and seeing, so those who had lost these limbs felt, not perceiving their lameness or blindness because of his great care. For this reason he did not say, "I comforted the lame and the blind," but, "I was their foot and eye." And again, "I was a father to the powerless." Nor did he say here, "I comforted orphans," but, "I was their father," indicating by this that he allowed no awareness of orphanhood to arise, nor permitted the calamity to appear—just as there, through the abundance of his care for those who had suffered such things, he removed even the perception of their afflictions. He did not only heal maimed bodies or remedy orphanhood, becoming for some a substitute for limbs, for others a substitute for parents, but he also appointed himself a judge—or rather, more than a judge. "For a case," he says, "which I did not know, I investigated, and I crushed the jaws of the unjust, and snatched plunder from between their teeth." This is far more than a judge.

For the judges sit waiting for those who have been wronged, and only after their petition do the most esteemed of the judges provide their own assistance—though most do not even do this. But this man surpassed even the most esteemed and outdid them by a wide margin. For he did not wait for the wronged to come to him, nor did he apply his aid after their petition, but he himself went about in advance seeking out the wronged, and not merely seeking, but with great vigilance, with great care. And you will know this clearly when you grasp the force of the expression; for he did not say, "I sought," but, "I tracked down a justice I did not know"—that is, I investigated, I busied myself with diligent inquiry, I left no stone unturned, so as to find whether any wronged person might be hidden. Do you see the vigilant soul? Now behold the courage and the zeal: "And I crushed the jaws of the unjust." The very biting force, the power, I destroyed, he says, so that they became useless even for further injustice. Thus he benefited both: those who would suffer evil, and those who would do evil, by delivering them and making them more temperate. Then the vigor and endurance: "And I snatched the prey from between their teeth." For they did not despair nor give up, even if the matter was already seized, but I drew up even what had been swallowed, displaying the care of an excellent and vigilant shepherd for his fellow servants. And what of humility? Consider how great it is: "But if I disparaged the judgment of my servant or maidservant, when they were being judged against me.

For what shall I do, if the Lord takes me under his oversight? Were they not conceived in the womb just as I was? Do you see a mind crushed and examining human nature with precision, knowing what a slave is and what a free man is—that which is bandied about by many? Having cast out this inequality, then, from the equality of birth he introduces his discourse on philosophy. And what is truly remarkable about him is that, in doing this, he did not consider it an act of humility, but the fulfillment of an obligation. Hence he also set forth an argument that persuades all men to think no more highly of themselves than of their servants, even if they are masters a thousand times over. For these names, slave and free man, are mere names, empty of reality; slavery is defined by sin, and freedom by righteousness. Was he, then, so humble, and yet not also beloved and desirable? Yes, he was desirable; and observe here too the excess. For just as in times of peril he bore the afflictions brought upon him with all vehemence, so too in prosperity he accomplished each virtue with great abundance, not simply or haphazardly, but reaching the very peak. And if my maidservants have often said, "Who would give us one of the

to be filled with his flesh?—I being so very kind. Here he describes the mad passion of his servants, the burning love they had for him, making them his ardent lovers, and how he showed himself to them in return. For thus, he says, they hung upon me, thus they clung to me, thus they were nailed to me, thus they loved me, so as to desire even to be filled with his flesh, and to swallow and devour him because of their intense love and burning passion. 5. What could one say of his contempt for money? For this too was accomplished by him to an extraordinary degree. For not only did he not covet the possessions of others, which is what most people now suffer from, but he did not even covet his own; rather, he was alienated even from them to the utmost. Hence he also said: "But if I rejoiced when great wealth came to me, I did not trust in a precious stone." For this reason, when his possessions were taken away, he bore the loss with great ease, and when they were present, he practiced lavish almsgiving, extending his right hand to all and opening his house. For he did not do what most people do, busying themselves and scrutinizing those who receive; rather, "My door," he says, "was open to every comer." The needy never failed to obtain what they required; and no stranger left my door with an empty lap. Do you see the lavishness? Do you see the philanthropy, the kindness, the humility? Do you wish also to learn of his chastity? "I made a covenant," he says, "with my eyes not to gaze upon another man's virgin." What Christ later commanded, this man accomplished through his deeds. Did you see him wealthy? Did you see him poor? Did you see him healthy? Did you see him sick?

You saw how his affairs were borne along smoothly for him? You saw him stripped of everything? You saw how he prepared himself toward children, toward servants, toward the wronged, toward orphans? And if I had gone about with jesters, he says—that is, I did not even pursue those gatherings of buffoons. And this too is no small sign of temperance. For he went through every virtue, and, though clothed with so much, he was disposed more strictly than those who have nothing; for the man who has nothing is not so free from wealth as that man who had so much. For everywhere it is the intention that is crowned. And he ascended to the very peak of temperance, and he accomplished every virtue with the requisite precision. Emulate these things, beloved, imitate these things, and take up this image that has been sketched, and fix it in your conscience; and if you are in despondency, take refuge in him; if in wealth, take the remedy from here, so that you may neither be drowned in poverty nor puffed up by wealth; and if you lose children, you have consolation from here; for you will find here both the excess of calamities and of endurance; and if you fall into sickness, think of the fountains of worms that his flesh boiled forth, and you will bear everything gently; and if a friend plots against you, again bring the saint into the midst, and you will remove the passion; and if ordinary people abuse you, think of what he suffered from his servants, and you will receive much healing; and if some evil suspicion seizes you, consider what they said about him, that he had not yet paid a fitting penalty for his sins, and what reproaches they uttered, and you will remove this passion too.

For there is no misfortune among men, as I said at the beginning, which this man, harder than any adamant, did not endure: hunger and poverty and disease and the loss of children and the sudden loss of so much wealth he bore; and after that, that he was plotted against by a wife, abused by friends, warred upon by servants, through all these he showed himself harder than any rock, and this before the Law and before Grace. For we shall have no excuse at all, when we who after the Law and Grace have enjoyed so great a gift, bear ourselves less worthily than this man who, at the beginning and in the preludes of human life, displayed such philosophy. Therefore, that we may have both consolation in our sorrows and instruction in the best philosophy, let us write these things down and thus depart, and let us emulate the athlete and imitate his wrestlings; so that we may attain the good things to come, by the grace and love for humanity of our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom and with whom glory is to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, now and always, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.