De Maccabeis

On the Holy Maccabees and on Their Mother. Homily 1. 1. How bright and full of joy is our city, and how much more splendid than the whole year is this day—not because the sun sends a ray more visible than usual to the earth today, but because the light of the holy martyrs has illumined our entire city more than lightning; for these are brighter than countless suns and more radiant than the great luminaries. Because of them, the earth today is more august than heaven. Do not speak to me of dust, do not consider ashes, nor bones consumed by time, but open the eyes of faith, and see the power of God seated beside them, the grace of the Spirit enveloping them, the glory of the heavenly light covering them. Not such rays from the sun's course are sent to the earth as the flashes and gleams that leap from these bodies, blinding the eyes of the devil. For just as bandits and grave-robbers, when they see royal weapons lying somewhere—a breastplate, a shield, and a helmet, all gleaming with gold—immediately leap back and dare not approach or touch them, fearing a great danger if they should attempt such a thing, so too the demons, the true bandits, wherever they see the bodies of martyrs lying, flee and immediately leap back. For they look not at their nature, which is mortal, but at the ineffable dignity of Christ who bore them.

For these arms not an angel, not an archangel, not any other created power put on, but the Lord of the angels Himself. And just as Paul cried out, saying, "If you seek a proof of the Christ speaking in me," so too these are able to cry out and say, "If you seek a proof of the Christ who contended in us." For the bodies are precious, because they received blows for their own Master, because they bear stigmata for Christ. And just as a royal crown, adorned on all sides with various jewels, sends forth different rays, so too the bodies of the holy martyrs, marked as with precious stones by the wounds suffered for Christ, appear more valuable and more august than any royal diadem. Now the external contest-givers, when they establish contests, consider it the greatest ambition when they introduce young athletes, vigorous and in their prime, into the arenas and contests, so that before the display in the wrestling, from the good condition of their limbs they provide wonder to the spectators. But here it is not so, but quite the opposite. For Christ, establishing a contest, does not do so as they do, but one that is dreadful and full of fear; for the struggle is not of men against men, but the battle is of men against demons. Therefore, establishing such a contest for us, He did not bring young athletes, vigorous and in their prime, to the wrestling, but very young boys, and with them an old man, Eleazar, and in addition to these an aged woman, the mother of the boys. What then is this, O Master? Do you bring the useless age to the contests, into the arenas?

Who ever heard of a woman contending at such an age? No one has heard; but I, he says, will confirm this paradoxical and novel thing, never before admitted even by hearsay, through their deeds themselves. For I am not the kind of contest-giver who entrusts everything to the strength of the contestants; rather, I stand by, and help, and extend my hand to my athletes, and most of their achievements come from my protection. Therefore, when you see a trembling, aged woman, in need of a staff, entering the contest, and putting an end to a tyrant's madness, overcoming incorporeal powers, easily subduing the devil, crushing his condition with great authority, marvel at the grace of the contest-giver, be astounded at the power of Christ. The athletes are not vigorous in the flesh, but they are vigorous in faith; their nature is weak, but the grace that anointed them is strong; their bodies are paralyzed by old age, but their minds are steeled by the desire for piety. The contest is not perceptible; therefore, do not judge the athletes from the outside, but enter with your reason into the good condition of their soul; examine the strength of their faith, so that you may learn that one who fights against demons does not need a strong bodily frame or a flourishing age, but even if he is very young, or has reached extreme old age, if he has a noble and robust soul, he is in no way harmed by his age in his struggles. And what am I saying about an old man and a young man, when even women have stripped for these wrestling matches and have bound on glorious crowns?

For the contests outside examine age, nature, and status, and they close the entrance to slaves, women, elders, and youths; but here the theater is opened with complete freedom to every status, every age, and both sexes, so that you may learn both the abundance and the ineffable power of the one who sets the contest, and see that apostolic saying confirmed through deeds: that his power is perfected in weakness. For when children and elders achieve things beyond nature, the grace of God working through them shines brightly through all. And so that you may learn that the weakness of the athletes, this external weakness, makes the victors more glorious, come now, let us set aside the elder and the children and bring forward their weaker one into the midst: the woman, the aged one, the mother of seven children; for the pains of childbirth are no small hindrance to these struggles. What then of her is worthy of admiration first? The weakness of her nature, or the ripeness of her age, or the vulnerability of her sympathy? For these are great hindrances to a course requiring such endurance. But I have another point to mention, greater than these, through which we will observe both the courage of the woman and all the malice of the devil. What is this? Consider the wickedness of the foul demon: he did not drag her first into the arena, but brought her to the contests after her children. Why so?

So that by the torments of the seven youths he might first break down her spirit and soften the firmness of her mind, with her strength spent beforehand through the spectacle of what was happening in the punishments of her grandchildren, and then, when she had become weaker, he might easily attack her. For do not look at this, that they were undergoing the torments, but consider that she, for each one of them, endured more grievous pains, and was slain for each one of them. And this saying is well known to all women who have experienced the pangs of childbirth and have become mothers. Often, indeed, a mother seeing a child burning with fever would choose to suffer anything so as to transfer the fire of the disease from that body to herself; thus mothers consider the misfortunes of their children more unbearable than their own evils. And if this is true, as indeed it is true, the mother was punished more severely than the children in the torments of the children, and the martyrdom was greater in the mother than in the children. For if the mere hearing of the illness of one child disturbs the bowels of the mother who bore it, then when not one child but such a band of children is being destroyed, and she receives the sufferings not by hearing but by sight,

She, taking in what was happening, what would she not have suffered? How did she not lose her mind, seeing each of them being gradually destroyed by various and horrifying torments? How did her soul not break away from her body? How did she not leap onto the pyre from the first sight, freeing herself from the rest of the spectacle? For even if she was a philosopher, she was a mother; even if she was beloved of God, she also was clothed in flesh; even if she was eager, she also partook of womanly nature; even if she burned with zeal for piety, she was also held by the bond of her birth pangs. For if we, being men, often seeing a condemned man led through the marketplace, having the rope on his mouth, dragged to the pit, having no claim of friendship toward him, are broken down from the mere sight, even though we have sufficient consolation in the wickedness of the condemned man to suffer nothing of the sort—what is it likely that this woman suffered, seeing not one condemned man led away, but seven children all at once in a single day, not by a swift death, but cut down by various slaughters? For even if she were made of stone, even if her entrails were frozen from adamant, would she not have been disturbed, would she not have suffered something of the sort that a woman and a mother was likely to suffer? Consider how we marvel at the patriarch Abraham, that he bound his son and led him up and placed him on the altar, and then you will rightly see how great is the courage of this woman. O most bitter and most sweet spectacle! Most bitter because of the nature of what was happening, most sweet because of the disposition of the one beholding.

For she did not see the flowing blood, but she saw the crowns of righteousness being woven; she did not see the sides being pierced, but she saw eternal tabernacles being built; she did not see the executioners standing around, but she saw angels encircling; she forgot the birth pangs, she despised nature, she disregarded age; she despised nature, a tyrannical thing, nature, which is accustomed to rule even wild beasts. Many of the hard-to-catch beasts are thus captured, because of their sympathy for their young, disregarding their own safety, and falling unguarded into the hands of hunters; and there is no animal so weak that it does not defend its offspring; none so tame that it is not provoked when its young are taken away. But this woman overthrew the tyranny of nature, stretched both through rational humans and through irrational animals; and not only did she not leap at the tyrant's head, nor tear his face, seeing her cubs being torn apart, but she displayed such an excess of philosophy that she even prepared the inhuman feast for him, and while the former ones were still being punished, she anointed the remaining ones for the experience of the same horrors.

Let mothers hear these things, let them emulate the courage of this woman, her loving devotion toward her children. Let them raise their children in this way. For giving birth does not make a mother—that is a matter of nature—but raising them well does—that is a matter of choice. And so that you may learn that it is not giving birth that makes a mother, but raising children well, listen to Paul crowning the widow not for childbirth, but for the rearing of her children. For after saying, "Let a widow be enrolled who is not less than sixty years of age, and who is attested by good works," he added the chief of good works. And what is this? "If she has raised children," he says. He did not say, "If she has borne children," but, "If she has raised children." Let us then consider what the woman must have suffered—if indeed we must call her a woman—seeing fingers writhing on the coals, a head leaping off, an iron hand placed upon the head of another child, stripping off the skin, and the one suffering these things still standing and speaking. How did she open her mouth? How did she move her tongue?

How did her soul not take flight from her flesh? How, I ask. She did not look to the ground, but prepared everything for what was to come; she feared only one thing—that the tyrant might spare someone and cut short the contest, that he might break up the chorus of her children, that some might remain uncrowned. And that this was what she feared, she took the last one almost with her own hands and thrust him into the cauldron, using words of encouragement and counsel to him instead of hands. We cannot hear of others' misfortunes without pain, and she looked upon her own without pain. Let us not hear these things idly, but let each of the hearers apply this whole tragedy to his own children; let him picture the beloved sight, and, sketching for himself his dearest ones, let him paint these sufferings upon them, and then he will know well the power of what is said—or rather, not even then; for no speech can represent the passions of nature; only experience teaches. It is fitting to say to her that prophetic saying after the crown of the seven children: "And you are like a fruitful olive tree in the house of God." Now in the Olympic games, when a thousand athletes often enter, the crown goes to only one; but here, from seven athletes, seven have become crown-wearers. What land can you show me so fertile? What womb so productive? What such birth-pangs? The mother of the sons of Zebedee became the mother of apostles, but of only two.

I do not know of a single womb that produced seven martyrs, and that same womb was then added to them, not merely as the addition of one martyr, but of many more. For the children were only seven martyrs; but the body of their mother, when added, was one body, yet it filled the place of twice seven martyrs, because she bore witness for each one of them, and because she made them such as they were, having given birth to an entire Church of martyrs for us. She travailed with seven children, and she travailed with none for the earth, but all for heaven—rather, for the King of the heavens, having brought them all forth into the coming life. Now the devil led her last of all to the contests for the reason I mentioned earlier, so that, with her strength already spent in the spectacle of the torments, she might become easy to overcome when she last received the adversary. For if men, often seeing blood flowing, have collapsed in faint-heartedness and needed much effort to bring back the life ebbing from them and the soul flying away from the body—she, seeing such streams of blood, not from another's flesh but from the flesh of her children flowing down, what would she not have endured? How great a disturbance would she not have received in her soul? So the devil, as I said earlier, dragged her to the contests after the children in order to make her weaker; but the opposite happened, for she went to the contests with greater courage. Why and for what reason? Because she no longer feared nor cared for any children left behind by her here, lest they become soft and be deprived of the crowns.

but having placed them all, as it were, in an inviolable treasury, heaven, and sent them to the crowns above and the immovable goods, she, confident, stripped herself for the contest with great pleasure; and just as one sets the most precious stone in a crown, so she, fitting her own flesh into the chorus of her children, departed to the longed-for Jesus, leaving us the greatest consolation and counsel, the exhortation through deeds, so that with a strengthened soul and lofty spirit we may dare all terrors. For what man, what woman, what elder, what youth will henceforth obtain pardon or have an excuse for fearing the dangers brought upon him for Christ's sake, when a woman, and an aged one, and the mother of so many children, and contending before the grace, when the gates of death were still closed, when sin had not yet been extinguished, nor death vanquished, is seen enduring so many tortures for God's sake with such eagerness and courage? Considering all these things, both women and men, both young and old, let us inscribe the contests and struggles as on some tablet of our hearts, and let us have her endurance as a perpetual counsel for the contempt of terrors, stored in our soul, so that by imitating here the virtue of these saints, we may there share in their crowns, displaying as much endurance in irrational passions as they displayed philosophy in dangers—in anger, and desire for money, bodies, vainglory, and all such things.

For if we overcome this flame as they overcame the fire, we will be able to stand near them and share in the same freedom of speech. May it be granted to all of us to attain this, 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. ON THE HOLY MACCABEES. Homily 2. 1. It is not possible, then, to praise all the holy martyrs with a single tongue, but even if we had countless mouths and as many tongues, we would fall short of the praises. And I experience the same thing when I look at the achievements of the seven martyrs, as if a money-loving man, standing at a spring flowing with gold that has seven mouths, should attempt to drain it entirely, but after great and unspeakable labor, should leave the greater part behind. For from a spring, however much you draw off, the greater part remains. What then? Since we cannot offer what is worthy, shall we be silent? By no means. For the martyrs are those who receive the gifts, and they imitate their own Master in the judgment of such generosity. And how does He act? When someone offers gifts, He does not attend to the size of what is offered, but to the zeal of the one offering, and measures the recompense accordingly. Thus He acted in the case of that widow: the woman cast down two obols, and she was preferred over those who had cast down much. For God did not see the smallness of the money, but the lavishness of the intention. Two obols were the money, but the intention was more valuable than countless talents of gold.

Let us then confidently take up the encomia, and let what we did yesterday, if it seems good, be done also now. For yesterday, having taken the mother alone, we expended the discourse upon her. We did this not wishing to separate her from the chorus of the children, but to make the wealth more secure for ourselves. Let us do this also now: having detached one of the children, let us say a few things concerning him. For there is fear lest, like seven rivers, the praises of the seven martyrs, coming together all at once, overwhelm our discourse. Therefore, let us take one of the youths, not separating him from the chorus of the brothers, but making the burden light for us. For when one is praised, the crown will be common to the others as well, since they all shared in the same contests. In any case, the mother will come in to us also today, even if we do not touch upon her; for the sequence of the words will inevitably draw her in, and she will not endure to abandon the children. For if in the contests she did not stand away from

of the offspring, nor will it refrain from their encomia. Which of the seven athletes, then, do you wish us to take up? The first, or the second, or the third, or the last? Rather, none among them is last; for it is a chorus, and in a chorus neither beginning nor end is apparent. But to make the one praised more recognizable, we speak of the last in age. For the struggles are brotherly, and the achievements are kindred; where there is kinship of achievements, there is no first and second. Let us then take up the last in age, equal in spirit not only to his brothers, but also to the old man himself. This one alone among the brothers was led to the tortures unbound; for he did not await the hands of the executioners, but anticipated their cruelty with his own eagerness, and was led unbound. And he had none of his brothers as a spectator; for all had been perfected. But he had a more august theater than his brothers: the eyes of his mother. Did I not tell you that, even if we were not eager, the mother would certainly enter in? Behold, then, the sequence of the discourse has brought her in. This theater was so august and great that it had even the host of angels, and indeed also his brothers, watching him, no longer from the earth, but from the heavens. For they sat crowned, just as judges in the Olympic games, not judging the struggles, but eager to receive the victor. So he stood unbound, uttering words full of philosophy; for he wished to convert the tyrant to his own piety.

Since he was not strong enough, he then did his own part: he gave himself over to punishment. And that one pitied him for his youth, but this one wept for him because of his impiety; for the tyrant and the martyr do not see the same things. For both have the same eyes, but those of the flesh; the eyes of faith are no longer the same. But that one saw the present life, this one saw the future life, toward which he was about to fly. And the tyrant saw frying pans, the martyr saw Gehenna, into which the tyrant was about to cast himself. If we marvel at Isaac, because, bound by his father and fettered, he did not leap from the altar, nor did he struggle when he saw the knife being brought against him, much more must we marvel at this one, because he was not bound, nor had he need of the compulsion of bonds, nor did he await the hands of the executioners, but he himself became both victim and priest and altar for himself. For, having looked around in a circle and seen none of his brothers present, he was troubled, and hastened to hurry and overtake them, so as not to be separated from this beautiful chorus. For this reason he did not await the hands of the executioners; for he feared the tyrant's mercy, lest he might pity him and snatch him from the fellowship of his brothers. For this reason, anticipating, he snatched himself from that savage philanthropy. For many things were sufficient to bend the tyrant: the youth of his age, the punishment of so many brothers, which was enough to satisfy even a wild beast—but that one was not satisfied—the gray hair of his mother, the fact that nothing more came to him from the punishment of those who had preceded.

Having considered all this, the young man threw himself into punishment from which it was impossible to escape, and as if into a spring of cold waters, so he plunged into the cauldrons, considering them a divine bath and baptism. For just as people burning with fever cast themselves into a cold strait of waters, so he, burning with desire for his brothers, gave himself over to that punishment. And the mother also offered encouragement, not because he needed encouragement, but so that you might learn again the steadfastness of the woman; for she did not suffer the things of mothers over any of the seven children, or rather she suffered the things of mothers over each one; for she did not say to herself: What is this? My band of children has been snatched away; this one alone is left; in him my childlessness is at stake; who will care for me in my old age if he departs? For it was not enough for me to present half, or if not half, two portions? But shall I also give up the one left to me alone for the comfort of my old age? She said none of these things, she did not consider them, but as if with hands she lifted him with the encouragement of her words and cast her son into the cauldron, glorifying God that he had received the entire fruit of her womb and had rejected none, but had harvested the whole tree; so that I would confidently say that she suffered more than the children. For in them the greater part of the pain and faint-heartedness was thereafter cut short, but she, with unimpaired mind and pure judgment, received a clearer perception of what was happening because of her nature.

And one could see a threefold fire: that which that tyrant kindled, that which nature inflamed, and that which the Holy Spirit ignited. Not such a furnace did that Babylonian tyrant kindle as this tyrant kindled for the mother; for there the fuel of the fire was naphtha, pitch, tow, and vine-branches, but here it was nature, birth-pangs, parental affection, and the harmony of her children. Not so were those men fried as they lay on the fire as she was fried through her parental affection; but she prevailed through piety, and nature contended with grace, and the victory was grace's; piety overcame the birth-pangs, and fire conquered fire—the spiritual fire the physical fire, and that kindled by the cruelty of the tyrant. And just as a sea-cliff receiving the assaults of waves remains itself unmoved, while it easily dissolves those assaults into foam and destroys them, so too the heart of that woman, like a sea-cliff receiving the assaults of pains as waves, remained itself unmoved, while it dissolved those assaults with a reasoning that was steadfast and full of philosophy. She was ambitious to show the tyrant that she was truly their mother, that they were truly her own children, not through the kinship of nature, but through the communion of virtue; she did not consider it a punitive fire, but a wedding torch. Not so does a mother adorning her children for a wedding rejoice as she rejoiced seeing them punished.

And just as she would clothe one in a bridal garment, weave crowns for another, and set up marriage chambers for another, so she rejoiced seeing one running to the cauldrons, another to the frying pans, and another having his head cut off. And everything was full of smoke and savor, and she received the trial of the children through all the senses, seeing through her eyes, hearing through her ears the words of her dearest ones, receiving in her very nostrils the smoke of the flesh, that smoke both sweet and foul—foul to the unbelievers, but to God and to her sweetest of all—that smoke which clouded the air but did not cloud the mind of the woman; for she stood unbending and unswerving, persevering through all that happened. But it is time now to bring the discourse to an end, so that they may enjoy more praises from the common teacher. Let fathers imitate her, let mothers emulate her, and women, and men, those living in virginity and clothed in sackcloth and wearing collars; for wherever we arrive at ascetic discipline and philosophy, the philosophy of this woman outstrips our endurance. Therefore let no one who has reached the heights of courage and endurance consider it unworthy to have this aged woman as a teacher; but let us all pray together, both those dwelling in cities and those inhabiting deserts, both those practicing virginity and those shining in honorable marriage, both those despising all present things and those crucifying the body, that we may be able to

having taken up the same course as she, to be deemed worthy of the same freedom of speech, and to stand near her on that day by the prayers of the holy woman herself, and of her children, and of Eleazar, the great and noble elder who displayed an adamantine soul in the midst of terrors, who completes their chorus. But we shall be able, if along with their holy prayers we also contribute everything from ourselves, before wars and terrors, in the time of peace, by mastering the passions within us, cutting off the disorderly leapings of the flesh, subduing and enslaving the body. For thus, if we live in peace, we shall have the splendid crowns of the contests; and if it seems good to the benevolent God that we accomplish the same struggle as they, we shall come prepared for the wrestling-matches, and we shall attain the heavenly goods. May it be that we all attain them, by the grace and benevolence of our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom and with whom to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, honor, and power unto the ages of ages. Amen.

On the Holy Maccabees, Homily 3. Seeing that the praise of their deeds is owed to the martyrs, and seeing the crowd constrained, I hesitate. Therefore, if it seems good, let us postpone the teaching for the present, and let us strive to imitate the vigor of the martyrs. So then, let Eleazar the elder come first before us, the beginning of the contests, the foundation of the martyrdom, the door of the struggles, the leader of courage, the forerunner of endurance, the youthful old age, the protomartyr of the Old Testament, the image of Peter, the chief of the apostles. The enemy wearied himself flattering and scourging, and the one being punished did not cease his exhortations. The elder stood trembling from old age, but the tyrant sat breathing threats and murder, and the one trembling departed in full vigor, while the one in his prime departed defeated. Gray hair stood being torn, while youth judged with savage authority, and the victory fell to the gray hair. O what a novel kind of victory trophy! One old man, being struck, routed an entire army shooting at once. The wonder does not permit me to pass from the deeds of the elder to the courage of the young men. But nevertheless, we must proceed to them, having forced our way through this. For the trophies against the tyrant are also splendid among them. For youth was not likely to appear more timid than gray hair. So then, seven young men in succession, excelling, were crowned, from one womb rushing into a single battle line. If it seems good, I conclude the speech, strong choristers of strong martyrs.

But, as I was saying, seven youths in succession, from a single womb, hastening to a single battle line, adorned with a single brotherhood of knees and character, each one entering the contests after the other, were crowned. Now I must recall to you, O noble ones, that evangelical saying: "Blessed," it says, "is the womb that bore you, and the breasts at which you suckled." And since I have mentioned breasts and womb, it is time for me to pass on to the mother of the champions, who in one body died many times—or rather, who was many times slaughtered and never once felt pain, the invulnerable and yet much-wounded one. The first of her children being dragged to death did not disturb her, as the second, not yet having touched the contests, did not frighten her; the death of the second again did not grieve her, as the life of the third child, having an unknown end, did not terrify her; the third and fourth child being slaughtered were a small matter to her, while the fifth had not yet been killed; nor did the fall of the sixth overcome her philosophy; the seventh remained last for the contests, completing the seven-stringed lyre of the martyrs. What then? Was she bent by the untimeliness of his age, did she sympathize even with the remnant of nature? On the contrary, she herself pushed the child toward death, if not with her hands, then with her counsels. "Do not break," she says, "the number of the crowns, O child; become a sharer with your brothers in both the birth pangs and the achievements; imitate the fellowship of nature with the fellowship of action; show yourself a brother of those who have been slain also in the contests.

You were born to me as a seventh child by nature; become for me a seventh martyr by choice. Do not show me, O child, called a mother of seven children but of only six martyrs. Where now are those who do not even bring to God offerings from their wealth? Today a mother has brought to the Lord seven tender children, and she did not grow faint in offering a sacrifice from her own womb. Yet many among us haggle even over obols at the time of offering. But let us bring to God an offering of souls, of wealth, and of bodies, glorifying Christ above all, to whom belong glory and power for ever and ever. Amen.