In sancta et magna parasceve

On the Holy and Great Friday. The contest of the fast is now completed for us, and it has ended at the cross. For where else should the end of victory conclude but at a trophy? For the cross is a trophy: once erected, it forever puts demons to flight. For where now are the idols and the slayings of vain animals? Where are the temples and the fire of impiety? They have been extinguished; all have fallen through one holy blood. And the cross is a power of many powers, an invisible arrow, an immaterial remedy, a fount that releases from toil, a glory that is reviled. So that even if I should say countless other things about Christ, even if I should astonish the hearer by recounting countless miracles, I do not take pride in those as I do in the cross. I mean something like this: Jesus came forth from a virgin—a great wonder, to surpass marriage and to innovate nature. But if there were no cross, the first Virgin of paradise would not have been saved in her deeds. But now, at the time of the cross, a woman is saved first, healing the ancient evil with new graces. For a dead man rose in Galilee, but he died again; but I, having risen through the cross, can no longer fall into death.

Jesus sailed the sea, God in a skiff; the ephemeral wood gave its benefit, but I received an eternal wood, a good one, which I use instead of a rudder to repel the spiritual waves of wickedness. Five thousand were fed by a single sign of the cross. Where then are the remnants of the food? How can I, who was not present, take the remnants of those who were? For there were twelve baskets of fragments left over; the grace was proportionate. Christ was crucified, and we are always fed; and though we are filled, we seek again, and more is left over; for the grace is without loss. Let the day that gives birth to light be praised, through which the other days were called to joy. How? Listen: Today Adam was formed on the sixth day; today he put on a divine form; today a small cosmos was constituted within the cosmos; today man, as a helmsman, took hold of the rudders of humanity, ruling over all living beings; today he received autonomous commands; today he fell from paradise; today he was brought back in. O day of many turns! O day of many sorrows and no sorrow! O day that grieved in the morning but gladdened in the evening! Or rather, O day that healed so much! I confess to you gloomily, encountering the ancient sufferings, hearing that Adam fell from the paternal hearth, a man, a citizen of paradise, fed without farming, delighting without rain, needing no sweat or hoe or toil or labor for life, rejoicing in ever-blooming trees, moving from flower to flower, from fruit to fruit, having need follow desire, but not knowing, because of the beauty of what was seen, to which to first apply his hands.

I have often wept at such great blessedness, seeing him fallen; for the suffering was common, touching our own race. But when I encountered the Gospels and took hold of this day (for that was the sixth day, and this is also), I lost my grief, and I am clothed in white in my speech, and I say to myself and to you: Grief has fled, sorrow, lamentation; the old things have passed, behold, everything has become new. For just as the children of physicians heal serpentine wounds, pouring out from them the antidotal drugs, and preparing them, fighting the affliction with the occasions of the affliction, so the Savior used all occasions of evils for good, making the bitter sweet, turning the bilious into healing, turning the sting of death against itself, transferring the harm of the wood into salvation, taking a day that frightened the world, and giving back a day that gladdened the world. Do not be persuaded by me, but by your own eyes: look at the present church, and cease contending with us. It is the day of the cross, and we all rejoice, and we fast from evils, and we purify everything, within and without. This is the meaning of the feast, this is the manner of gladness. I speak of small wonders of the power of the cross: look at the circle of the inhabited world, how many villages, how many cities, how many places, how many nations, how many islands, how many rivers, how many shores, how many races and tribes, and barbarian tongues; all these through the cross are without food, having crucified their passions by its power; and night is dissolved for many, and the labor of the fast is not dissolved.

And now, why have we all come together to hear something about the cross, and we fill the church, and jostle one another, sweating, laboring, often deemed worthy of front seats before judges, but gladly standing before Jesus? Because Jesus also stood for us, that he might halt the currents of evil. What then was done today? Let not the wonders of this day pass us by simply. It was still light, and that very early dawn, and he is brought bound as to his hands into the praetorium of Pilate. What hands? Those that heal the blind, that cure the lame. And fingers were nailed with bonds, fingers that shaped eyelids, and the healer of nature was held back from fulfilling the proper work of his art. These things have been repaid to the Lord. He who binds waters in clouds was bound, he who releases those fettered in courage, who grants freedom to captives, was bound; he who released Lazarus from the bonds of death was bound; he who is attended by myriads of angels was led into the praetorium. He who has heaven as his throne stood before Pilate. And the creator endured being dragged by his creations, the molder by the molded, the maker by the made. What then about these things? What happens? And they themselves, it is said, did not enter the praetorium so as not to be defiled, but so as to eat the Passover. Oh, the great lawlessness! They commit a murder of injustice, and they decline to enter the praetorium, guarding themselves against defilement, though already defiled, loosing the sheep from the sheep. So the judge of the whole world awaited a tribunal; the witness of souls awaited witnesses; he who formed, and is being judged.

Men sat as judges, while God stood, and standing, he was silent, standing before the doors of men, the Master of the heavenly gates. Pilate asked, perhaps more humane than the Jews. What am I saying, perhaps? The events will show the truth: "What accusation do you bring against this man? Who has God to accuse?" For I am compelled to utter Pilate's words. For Jesus is silent—the Word not at a loss for words, but not wishing to undo the crown of the cross by his reply. And did the possessionless one covet possessions? Other people's houses, he who never had where to lay his head? Money, he who stripped even his own disciples down to their belts? Having no donkey, he acquired another's, in order to bless your children. State a pretext, fabricate one, put him to death justly. The Jews answered him: "If this man were not a malefactor, we would not have handed him over to you." A great proof of the facts, an indefinite verdict: state the evil, and do not lead the hearer astray. Pilate says to them: "Take him yourselves, and judge him according to your law." The fair-minded judge laid the burden upon the heads of the Jews: you take the partner of your wickedness. The Jews say to him: "It is not lawful for us to put anyone to death." How then did you put Isaiah to death, how Zechariah, how each of the prophets? But it is not lawful for you to put to death, not because you do not wish to, but because you are not able; for you had already been deprived of such authority by the Romans.

The law is therefore already dissolved, inactive in deeds, lying only in ink; but the bound Jesus dissolved it. Pilate said, "I find no fault in him." Not only you, O Pilate, but not even the Jews, not even the blind, not even the dead, not even the sun, not even the moon, not even the world, not even all the righteous prophets and martyrs, not even the prophet who says, "He who committed no sin, nor was deceit found in his mouth." All run together with Pilate, bearing a just verdict; only the Jews fight, judging by clamor, striving to overshadow the truth with uproar, and confirming the words of Isaiah: "I waited to produce a grape, but it produced thorns, and not justice, but a shout." While these things were happening, Pilate could neither speak nor hear because of the mixed tumult, and a revolt was being plotted. His wife sent to him, a good helper, restraining her eager husband, saying, "Have nothing to do with that just man"; if you can, save him; if you cannot, save yourself—almost saying the saying of David, "Do not destroy your soul with the impious and your life with men of blood." "Have nothing to do with that just man," for she suffered much in dreams because of him. Another Joseph, seeing the truth through dreams, bearing witness against the shouts of the Jews; for it was fitting that they be defeated by women. Rahab the harlot defeated them, the woman with the issue of blood defeated them, the Canaanite woman defeated them; and now again a woman against them. They are pressed.

The Jews answered him, "We have a law, and according to our law he must die." What law? By what words is it confirmed? Perhaps by those read today? He was led as a sheep to slaughter; and as a lamb before its shearer is voiceless, so he does not open his mouth; from the lawlessness of my people he was led to death. I find these syllables useful for them, but nowhere else is Jesus justly slaughtered. Pilate entered the praetorium, giving in to the Jews' rage, striving to quench an inextinguishable flame. He entered and came out; rather, he kindled the fire more. For he came out having Jesus crowned, an unwelcome marvel to the Jews, showing their enemy already crowned, already victorious, already clad in royal attire. For that which was done in insult was a symbol of his natural kingship. When they saw him, whom they had often seen, whom they had never seen, whom they always see and are inflamed, consumed by their own fire (for they would wish, if they were burnt by fire), they raised their Sodomite cry, they raised it and were raised up: "Away, away, crucify him." "Do you wish me to crucify your king?" "We have no king except Caesar," they say. Denial without persecution, atheism after the plagues of Egypt: "These are your gods, O Israel, who gathered you from the land of Egypt." "You have no king except Caesar? Who then led you through the desert? Or who fed you? Whom does Moses invoke, saying, 'The Lord reigns forever, and ever, and still'?

Therefore, since you have denied your own king, remain henceforth without a king, dragging an eternal yoke of slavery. These things were done up to the sixth hour. But let us also consider the remaining part of the day; for the whole day is holy. They took him crowned; with what? With thorns, the gifts of the Jews. He remained to produce a grape, but he produced thorns. He was slapped, he was beaten, he received lashes; but he was not ashamed of anything. Stand with Isaiah, and see God through his eyes. What then does he say? "Lord, who believed our report? We saw him, and he had no form, nor beauty; but his form was dishonored, inferior to the sons of men." He had no beauty, nor form, the craftsman of all beauty; for he was lamenting the evils of the Jews, a man, in affliction, and knowing how to bear weakness. A man, not God; for he was a man, and not God, who was being struck. Who then is this one, so full of toil and pain and assailed by all? Does he perhaps justly suffer what he suffers? This one bears our sins, and is pained on our behalf. I find no fault in him. But do not be ashamed of the reproachful goods. For having suffered so much, he remained impassible; he was wounded, spat upon, endured the most shameful things, and remains the same, honored, glorious, as one of the afflicted, as Isaiah himself says: "And we considered him to be in pain, and in affliction, and in distress; but he was wounded for our sins, and was weakened for our transgressions." Therefore both he and we lie wounded. By his wound we were healed.

A dead man is a physician of the dead; a wounded man is an antidote for men of many pains. But until when, O man, do you wander about in our license? Speak more clearly what is sought. He was led as a sheep to slaughter, and as a lamb voiceless before the shearer. A good sheep handed over to evil butchers: if you slaughter, O Jews, do not shear; but if you shear, spare a sheep that bears good fruit. And two other malefactors were led with him. For our discourse reaches to the eleventh hour of the day, so that no one may despair of his own life. And I wished to pass over the story, because it has been told many times, but I see a robber always compelling me. And it is no great thing; for he also forced the gates of paradise, having changed his craft into salvation. A lamb stood upon the cross, and two wolves; but one remained on the ground in purpose; the other was already changing, saying, "Remember me, when you come into your kingdom." O the power of Jesus! The robber is already a prophet proclaiming from the cross: "Remember me, Lord, when you come into your kingdom." For what do you see of a king, O robber? A slap, spittle, nails and wood, and the mockeries of the Jews, and already the spear of the soldiers being bared. But I do not see, he says, the things that appear; I see angels standing around, the sun fleeing, the veil being rent, the earth trembling, the dead already preparing to flee; Jesus receiving all, who also gave the same denarius to the workers who came around the eleventh hour. "Amen, I say to you (take also the amen, O robber, who today are a robber), today you will be with me in paradise.

I who cast you out, I bring you in, I who closed the gates of paradise, I who walled them with a fiery sword; for if I do not bring you in, the gates remain closed. Come here, O robber, having robbed the devil and been crowned against him; having seen a man, you worshipped God, casting aside your former weapons and taking up those of faith. Since these things are so, and all are being sanctified—from the ether, the sun; from plants, the wood; from animals, the gall; from woven fabrics, the seamless tunic; from the sea, the purple robe; from metals and iron, the spear and nails; and from the twin springs, blood and water poured forth—the Savior was doing his own work: "Father, forgive them their sin." To whom is forgiveness? To Greeks, Jews, strangers, barbarians, to all simply; for he spoke once, and the work is accomplished forever. For not only concerning enemies did he say, "Forgive"; he says it each year, and he says it always, and whoever wishes receives it. All gathered at the praetorium of Pilate; what do they say? "We know that that deceiver said while still living, 'After three days I rise.' Do you know at all? Do you remember at all that he has risen? Secure the tomb; for you secure it for me; guard the dead man, lest he flee." They say, "You have a guard, go; secure it as you know how; close it as you know how; prepare it as you know how; guard it as you know how; if you did not guard it, you leave me a pretext for an excuse. But now I entrust him to you yourselves, when he was alive he was held by you, when he was killed he escaped all of you." Let us therefore remain vigilant, so that the deep sleep

Let us look upon the Jews, and let us feast together with the heavenly hosts, in Christ Jesus our Lord, to whom are the glory and the power, now and always, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.