De beato Abraham

A Homily on the Blessed Abraham. Have you seen a gray head full of vigor, and an old age in its prime? Have you seen a noble athlete arrayed against nature and his own flesh? Have you seen a man in extreme old age harder than adamant? The tension of his flesh was relaxed, but the tension of his faith was strung tight. For such are the achievements of the Church, that the weakness of the body does no harm to the zeal of faith. For the adornment of the Church is a calm gray head and a winged faith, and in this the Church rejoices more. For in external affairs, the old man is useless, fit for nothing, but everywhere he enjoys indulgence, because due to weakness he cannot be of service in necessary matters. For example: The old man cannot array himself for war, cannot mount a horse, cannot brandish a spear, cannot shake a shield, cannot endure the heat of the sun, cannot bear the length of a journey, cannot withstand the severity of hunger, cannot bear the burden of tumults; but he sits in a quiet place, having his gray hair as his advocate. One may see this also in the case of ships: The old man cannot sit at the helm, cannot cut through the seas, cannot ply the oar, cannot hoist the sail, cannot array himself against contrary winds, cannot endure the sharpness of the cold, nor can he do any other such thing; but he sits in the ship, having the indulgence due to his age. One may see this also in the case of farmers.

For he can neither draw a plow, nor cut a furrow, nor become a horse-trainer, nor bear the strength of strong oxen, nor the assault of heat, nor the burden of warmth, nor the weight of a mattock, nor any other thing useful for the earth; but he sits in the house, having his gray hair as his advocate. But the affairs of the Church are not like that; rather, when those who live in virtue grow old, then they become more useful; for it is not the vigor of the flesh, but the intensity of faith that is sought. Such was Abraham, relaxed in the tone of his flesh, but strengthened in the tone of his faith. He was an old man, but in extreme old age he fought against nature, setting up great trophies of victory; he was an old man, but more vigorous than iron, and harder than adamant. And when he was in youth, he accomplished none of these things; but when the time of his age had passed, then he set up the trophy of victory; he was in extreme old age, but his gray hair was no obstacle. Therefore God also, knowing his vigor, appears to him and says: "Go out from your land, and from your kindred, and from your father's house, and come to the land which I will show you." Abraham obeyed the word, although he was already an old man and weak in body, and he did not say to himself: "Where am I to go in extreme old age? Am I to leave my father's house, and the land where I was born, where there is an abundance of wealth, and the distinction of my parents, where there is costly property, and the prosperity of friends?" But he was grieved at the present, yet he did not disobey; for as a lover of his homeland he was distressed to leave, but as a lover of God he was persuaded and obeyed.

And what is remarkable is that God did not even tell him to which place, but by the indefiniteness of the name he trained his choice. For if he had said to him, "I am going to lead you to a land flowing with milk and honey," Abraham would have been found not obeying the voice of God, but preferring a land to the land. So Abraham set out not knowing where he was going. Do you see old age taking pride in achievements? For such are our affairs, as I said before: neither the feebleness of old age overthrows them, nor does time wither them; for old age is not in bodies, but in the soul; therefore it is ageless. So Abraham set out having received nothing, but still dwelling in tents, and he did not disbelieve, nor did he despair; for he had a trustworthy pledge in the voice of the one who called. He himself was childless, and he was not begetting children, nor was Sarah, his wife, either; but he received a son, Isaac, by promise; when nature had given up, then grace bestowed; he received a trustworthy reward for obedience, but he did not know this; for if he had known, he would have done nothing trustworthy. And so that you may learn that he did not obey for this reason, see how, when commanded to slay him, he does not disobey, but casts aside nature, embraces love of God, tramples upon his own bowels, and does not abandon the one who called. What then does God say to him? "Abraham, Abraham." And he said, "Here I am." And he said, "Take your beloved son, whom you loved, Isaac, and offer him as a whole burnt sacrifice on one of the mountains which I will tell you." He did not even reveal the mountain to him, but by the indefiniteness of the mountain he cast him into greater despondency. But nevertheless, none of these things disturbed Abraham; or rather, they did disturb him—

He suffered, indeed, the things of a man, but he did not suffer the things of sin; he was tossed about as a father, but he was not drowned as a lover of God; his bowels were kindled, but faith prevailed. Do not say that Abraham suffered nothing; consider how he was set on fire, driven by his bowels, and behold his philosophy. He does not even tell Sarah; for he feared that she might hinder the mystery that was being accomplished. For if he had spoken, it was likely that she would stop him and say: "Where are you taking your son, whom I received beyond all hope, whom I received according to the promise, whom I received in return for hospitality, whom God granted to me in my extreme old age? Where are you taking him? Where are you taking him? No one appeared to you; for how could God have appeared to you and asked for the son whom he gave me beyond hope? He himself granted him, and he himself takes him away? If he gave him in order to take him, it would have been better if he had not given him; for the pain of not having is not as great as the pain of receiving and losing." Consider Sarah being kindled and set on fire, driven by nature, her womb being twisted, her bowels being altered; for women are sympathetic concerning such things; for the softer and more sympathetic she was, the more she would have contended with Abraham, and the sacrifice would have been hindered, and the mystery would have been undone. For what would Sarah not have done to tear her son away? For she could not bear what was happening, her son beyond hope about to be killed, and granted to her in her old age about to be slaughtered, a father's hands about to commit child-murder.

Sarah would not have endured such things, but would have made great strife with Abraham; and with strife occurring, some ambush would necessarily follow, and with an ambush following, the mystery would have been hindered. Therefore Abraham did not speak to his wife, so that contention might not arise, so that, contention arising, the matter might not proceed to strife, so that, the matter proceeding to strife, it might not advance to division concerning the son, so that, advancing to division concerning the son, the promise might not be delayed, so that, the promise being delayed, the matter might not be ambushed, so that, the matter being ambushed, the mystery might not remain unfulfilled. 2. But the philosophical Abraham, the athlete, contending even against nature, boxing against his own bowels, and arming himself against nature, did not disobey, but yielding to the command of God, he heeded the message, and immediately takes his son. I delight to dwell on these words: "Take your beloved son, whom you loved, Isaac, and offer him to me as a whole burnt offering on one of the mountains which I shall tell you." And taking Isaac, and the donkey, and the two servants, Abraham went forth. Then, when they had arrived at a certain place, he says to the servants: "Sit here, you," he says, "and I and the boy will go as far as here, and after worshipping, we will return again to you." Unwittingly, Abraham prophesied, divine grace

with her cooperation. “You have come up to slaughter your son, and you say, ‘We will return?’” As if seeking to hide the servants, he becomes a prophet. And he placed the wood on the shoulders of Isaac, and taking fire and a knife, he went up onto the mountain. And what does Isaac say to his father? “Father.” And he: “What is it, child?” And he says: “Behold the fire and the wood; where is the sheep for the holocaust?” And he to him: “God will see to a sheep for the holocaust for himself, child.” Behold, a second prophecy: I cannot bear to pass over the words, nor to skip over the events. Consider names that are about to be stripped of their realities. Thus he calls his father, and he again his son, and for the moment the names existed, but they were about to be laid bare. For consider what Abraham suffered when called by Isaac, whom he was about to slay, “Father.” How were his knees not shattered? How were his limbs not broken? How did his mind not suffer when he heard these things from his son Isaac? Yet he bore up, and he bound Isaac, and he took the knife in his right hand, in order to slaughter his son. Oh, that right hand armed against his son! I have no way to represent in speech what happened. How did the hand not grow numb? How did the sword not fall from the hand? How was he not completely undone and shattered? How did he endure to stand and see Isaac bound? How did he not fall dead on the spot? How did his sinews serve him? How did his resolve hold out? I have no way to represent in speech what happened. All you fathers or mothers, come together, lend a hand, help my speech, for I am weak before the events.

Forgive me, but you must ally with me. Often a man has five or even six sons and daughters; and when one of them falls ill, the father goes around the entire bed, kissing the child’s eyes, embracing his hands, counting the day as night and the light as darkness—not changing the elements, but because of the distastefulness of grief, taking no pleasure in them. Soft beds are spread, physicians sit beside him, there is much attendance upon the one who is restless, and the father is wholly consumed. Even if he has an abundance of wealth, it is abhorrent to him; even if he has countless cares, he drives them all away, unable to rouse himself, drunk with grief. And the whole world is for him an incurable evil. Likewise the mother goes about, torn apart, inflamed, and wholly kindled, seeking strength to share the pain—or rather, to take it all upon herself, so that the afflicted child may be freed from the disease. The present life is nothing to her, the future life is nothing to her, but she considers it more precious than all these things to take upon herself the entire sickness of the child. I do not know how to represent this passion. Consider that Abraham suffered the same things, yet philosophized and obeyed the command. He trampled upon nature, and the commandment became stronger than his bowels. For he suffered these things, as I said before, as a human being, but he philosophized as a lover of God. And one could see Isaac as a martyr, living and not living, dead and not dead. For in the intention of his father, he died; but in the philanthropy of God, he did not die—for he was a type and image of the Lord.

The type served its purpose, and now it gives way to the truth. Then Isaac is bound, but not sacrificed; for a voice from above, full of mercy and love for humanity, came and restrained the patriarch, who was wholly intent and ready for the sacrifice, and said: "Abraham, Abraham, do not lay your hand upon the little child." Why does it not say "upon the boy," but "upon the little child"? Why does it use a diminutive? For he was a man; but there was need of a Son, not of a little child; not of a servant, but of a true only-begotten Son, sent to us from the Father. "Do not lay your hand upon the little child. You have been satisfied with the type; receive the truth." And Abraham, while deceiving the servants, prophesies; and he sees the truth coming to pass in what he had said. For what does he say? "Sit here with the donkey; I and the little child will go as far as this place, and after we have worshipped, we will return to you." He spoke not as he truly thought; rather, it turned out as he said, not as he intended. And he leaves the servants behind, lest they force upon him a god-fighting violence; lest, thinking that the old man had suffered some senile affection, they restrain his impulse to sacrifice, saying, "What are you doing, master? Are you sacrificing the child of promise, the beloved, the God-given, the one who tends your old age, the heir, your successor, the son of Sarah? What are you doing? Consider, consult with your wife, the partner in his begetting, who endured the pains of labor for him. Sacrifice us first, and then your son.

But the wise old man does not take those who ought to hinder him, but has the victim carry the wood, so that he may be a type of the Saviour bearing the cross. As the boy carries it and speaks, he stirs his father’s bowels, but does not drive him from his longing for God. For what does he say? Father. Consider what kind of voice it was: Father. For even we, when we are about to sacrifice a lamb or some other animal, and see it bleating and uttering a gentle voice toward us, we pity it, we are moved to compassion by its inarticulate cry. Consider, then, what this sheep would have done if it were speaking to a weak man: Father, behold the fire and the wood; where is the sheep for the holocaust? But he himself, according to his father’s intention, was the speaking sheep, provoking the priest to compassion. For he had not been a disciple of Christ, who says: He who loves father or mother, or son or daughter, more than me, is not worthy of me. But he imitated the Father of whom it is said: Who did not spare even his own Son, but gave him up for all of us. Where is the sheep? the boy says sensibly. What then does the father say? God will see to a sheep for the holocaust for himself, child; not a servant, but a Son. That one was only-begotten, and God is only-begotten; that one bore the wood on his shoulders, and Christ bore the cross on his shoulders; that one, having committed no sin, was about to be slaughtered, and the Son of God, having committed no sin, was crucified; that one was both slaughtered and not slaughtered, and the only-begotten Son of God was both slaughtered and not slaughtered, and died and did not die.

For as far as intention is concerned, he died; but as far as the outcome of events is concerned, that one did not die. The Son of God died in the flesh, but the divinity remained impassible. 3. For always, when God is about to administer a great matter among men, He anticipates and pre-sketches its shadow, so that when the truth comes, they may not disbelieve concerning it; so that, with the image having preceded, they may not disbelieve the truth. I mean something like this: the all-holy virgin was about to give birth, and the matter was unbelievable—how could a virgin give birth contrary to the law of nature? For what is born is contrary to the course of nature. Who from eternity has seen a virgin giving birth? So, in order that the Jews might not fall into great disbelief, He anticipates and sketches the truth in Sarah, so that when they are at a loss as to how the virgin gave birth, they might rather recall and say, how did Sarah give birth? Or rather, by that same reasoning, how did the earth, being a virgin, give birth? There was no spade, the one tilling it did not exist, rain did not fall, no plant grew upon it, its furrow was not cut, it was fallow, it received no sowing of seeds, no drop moistened it. Tell me then, how, being a virgin, did it sprout the countless kinds of plants? But you cannot explain what happened, but you say, because God willed it. In the same way, then, concerning the virgin, since you are at a loss, learn not to be overly curious when God works; do not ask about what is according to nature when the craftsman of nature works; do not pry.

He said, "Let the earth sprout," and immediately the word entered the womb of the earth, and stirred up her birth pangs, and the virgin gave birth. It was one word that went forth, and countless kinds of plants sprouted, and the earth received its own adornment through the word. And one could see the earth swelling, the birds, the aquatic creatures, the land animals, the meadows, the flowers, the trees, the vine, the olive, the countless kinds of trees, the unseasonable, the ripe, those in the plains, those by the sea, those by lakes, those by rivers, those by springs, those in the mountains. It was one word that worked, and the earth received its own beauty. Explain to me, O Jew, how this is; but you cannot. Do you see how error trips itself up? Pay close attention. For as I was saying, when God is about to administer some matter that seems unbelievable to men, he anticipates with the type and the shadow, so that the truth, when it comes suddenly, does not cast them into disbelief. The Son of God had to come down and baptize the human race, and drown the old man, and submerge the one who wishes to renew sin, and bring up the blessing, and obliterate the curse, and bestow righteousness, and make men angels; he was about to take an adulterer and make him a son; which indeed he did; he was about to take one not worthy of the earth and make him worthy of heaven. Since this was a great wonder and unbelievable to the many, how the same nature drowns and justifies one man, obliterates sin, and brings up the truth.

So that the Jews may not say, "The Christians' stories are a myth," how is it possible for the same water to drown one and give life to another? The water is one, and how can it have two effects? What then does God arrange beforehand so that the shamelessness of the Jews is refuted? The sons of Israel were being worn down in Egypt, nailed to their labors and the brickmaking and the other toils, and they cried out weeping and saying, "Who will deliver us from the slavery of the Egyptians? We are lost, utterly lost in these evil labors." What then? God heard them and sent Moses, arming him with signs and wonders. Moses came bearing the punishments against Pharaoh; he brought a swarm of evil locusts, he commanded the locust, and it came; he turned the water into blood, he caused blisters to boil up in the people and in the cattle. Then, when after these plagues Pharaoh did not yield, God next brought death of the firstborn; then, to cut the story short—for it is necessary to cut it short, so that we do not go around in circles about the same things and fail to fulfill our promise—they left the land of Egypt and came to the sea. Pharaoh encamped behind them with a multitude of chariots and horses; when Israel saw the formation, they were afraid. They came to the edge of the sea; and God says to Moses, "Why do you cry out to me?" And yet Moses said nothing. But he says, "I am God, hearing not only what comes from the lips, but also knowing what is in the heart, so that you may learn that prayer is not in the shouting, but in the intention. Why do you cry out to me?" For his lips were not speaking, but his heart was crying out.

For prayer is sought from a good intention, not from a loud shout. Why do you cry out to me? Stretch out the rod in your hand over the water, and pass through, you and all Israel. And Moses stretched out the rod in his hand, and struck the water, and the unruly rush of the waters was dried up, and forgot its own nature. For such is the element, when God nods, even they forget their own nature and curb their activity. For just as the sea is a grateful handmaid, seeing the servant of the Master, it obeyed and submitted; it submitted not out of reverence for the dry wood, but because of the one who was to be crucified on the wood. So it saw the image, and immediately perceived the truth, and gave way. Pass through, it says, you and all the people of Israel. Then he and all Israel passed through; and the Egyptians pursuing them followed, both Pharaoh and his chariots and horsemen. Then, after the sons of Israel had passed through, the water came and covered the Egyptians. Tell me then, O Jew, how does the water of baptism have two effects, and drowns one but gives life to another? Tell me, how did that sea, being one in nature, give life to some and kill others, drown some and become a path for others, although the unruly rush of the waters was one? And

How is it that he showed respect to some as to slaves, but in those others he imitated the manner of barbarians? Explain this to me, O Jew, who disbelieves in the cross: how did the same water drown those and save these? The water was one, the sea was one, and it did not even wet the feet of some, but of others it did not even leave a trace, but took all and covered them with water, and the sea made a common tomb for the entire host of the Egyptians. Tell me, then, how this happened. Do you see how the shadow came first, so that the truth might be believed? How those things are shadow, but these are truth? Those are shadow, these are reality? Do you see, as I said, that when God is about to administer something extraordinary, he first prefigures and sketches it, so that the truth, having thus come forth, may be well received? For the image must be inferior to the truth; if it were perfect, it would no longer be a shadow, but truth. The shadow came first, and then the truth of the colors came and showed the image clearly. Those are types, these are realities—as also happened with the lamb. The world was about to be freed by the blood of Christ and delivered from the curse. Since this again was a great miracle and unbelievable to the ungrateful soul of the Jews, God administers and prefigures it beforehand through the lamb. For when he was about to destroy the firstborn of the Egyptians, so that the firstborn of the sons of Israel might not also be destroyed together with them—what then? So that this might happen, Moses says, lest the destroying angel also destroy the firstborn of the sons of Israel—what then? God says to him: Command the sons of Israel, and let them take a spotless lamb, male, one year old, according to their families.

And if they are not well off, he says, neighbor will summon neighbor, and family will summon family, and thus taking the sheep—a flawless sheep, male, a year old—sacrifice it, he says, by families and by households of clans. And you shall eat its meat roasted by fire; nothing of it shall be left; and you shall smear its blood on your doorposts. You shall eat it, he says, girded about the loins, with sandals on your feet—and this as the attire of travelers—your lamps burning. Why? For evening was overtaking them. And why do you eat thus as travelers? Why? I will tell you. Both because of the type and because of the truth. Since Pharaoh was often struck and did not release them, and Moses said to them: He is struck today and will release; he was struck and did not release; he was struck a ninth time and did not release them; on the tenth he was about to release them. Take the attire of travelers, he says; for after you eat, you have nothing in common with Egypt. Take, then, he says, a flawless sheep, male, a year old, and sacrifice it; and smear its blood on your doorposts, so that when the angel comes, even if he does not spare them for their own sake, he will spare them because of the type of the blood. These things happened not because of the angel, but because of the blood that saved me. For could the angel not distinguish the parallel between Egyptians and Jews? He who knew the firstborn, was he unable to distinguish Egyptians and Hebrews? Therefore, when he reproaches you, saying, "You hope in blood?" say to him, "And you—are you not ashamed, shameless one? You were saved by the blood of a sheep, and am I not saved by the blood of the Lord?

A Jew, when he eats, is eager to be delivered from Egypt; a Christian, when he eats, let him be eager to be delivered from the world. For Paul thus instructs you: Put on the breastplate of righteousness; bind your feet in the readiness of the gospel of peace. There, sandals; here, sandals; there, a staff; here, a breastplate. Moses addresses you as travelers; Paul, as soldiers. Those go from land to land, therefore they are travelers; I go from earth to heaven, therefore I am a soldier. Why? Because my road is beset by robbers in the air; demons meet me. Therefore I have my boldness bared, therefore the breastplate of righteousness, therefore the belt of truth. For I am not only a traveler, but also a soldier. Narrow and constrained is the road that leads to life. See then how Paul instructs and how Moses equips, how the sensible things, how the spiritual things. Let us then also strive, beloved, to imitate Abraham, that we may be entertained in his bosom, by the grace and philanthropy of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom are the glory and the power, now and always, and to the ages of ages. Amen.