St. John Chrysostom: 4th Homily on the Gospel of Matthew

On the Genealogy of Christ

Thus, from Abraham to David are fourteen generations; from David until the captivity in Babylon are fourteen generations; and from the captivity in Babylon unto Christ are fourteen generations. —Matthew 1:17

The Evangelist divided the genealogy into three parts to demonstrate that the Jews did not improve with changes in governance. Whether under aristocracy, monarchy, or oligarchy—whether ruled by judges, priests, or kings—they persisted in the same sins. They showed no progress in virtue under any form of administration.

But why does the Evangelist omit three kings in the middle section of the genealogy, and in the final section, having listed twelve generations, still say there are fourteen? I leave the first question to your own investigation, as I do not deem it necessary to resolve everything for you, lest you grow lazy. Concerning the second, let me offer an explanation. It seems to me that he includes the period of the captivity as a "generation" and counts Jesus Christ Himself, joining Him with us at every step.

The mention of the captivity is significant, showing that even during their exile, the Jews did not become wiser. This underscores the necessity of Christ’s coming. But someone might ask: Why does Mark not do the same, nor provide a genealogy, instead recounting everything briefly? I think this is because Matthew wrote his Gospel first. Thus, he meticulously details the genealogy and focuses on major events. Mark, writing later, observed brevity, recounting what had already been described and widely known.

Why then does Luke also provide a genealogy, and an even more extensive one at that? Because, having in view Matthew’s Gospel, he wished to offer additional details. Moreover, each writer reflected the style of his teacher—Matthew imitated Paul, who speaks abundantly like a flowing river, while Mark followed Peter, who prefers brevity.

Why did Matthew, at the beginning of his Gospel, not say, as the prophets do, "The vision which I saw" (cf. Ezekiel 11:24), or "And the word of the Lord came unto me" (cf. Ezekiel 37:15, 38:1)? Because he was writing to people of good understanding who were already attentive to him. The miracles that had occurred confirmed his words, and his readers were already filled with faith. In the times of the prophets, however, there were not as many miracles to confirm their preaching. On the contrary, there were many false prophets whom the Jewish people were more inclined to follow. This is why the prophets needed to preface their messages in such a way.

Even when miracles did occur, they were often for the benefit of the Gentiles—to draw them into the faith of Israel and to manifest God’s power when enemies who subjugated the Jews boasted of defeating them by the strength of their own gods. This was the case in Egypt, where many joined the Israelites as they departed. Similar occurrences followed in Babylon, such as the miracle in the fiery furnace and the dreams of the kings.

There were also miracles in the wilderness when the Israelites were alone, just as there have been among us. When we left the errors of paganism, many miracles were shown to us. But later, as piety was established everywhere, miracles ceased. If miracles still occurred among the Jews after their wilderness sojourn, they were rare and not numerous—such as when the sun stood still or moved backward.

Likewise, in our own time, under Julian the Apostate, who surpassed all others in ungodliness, many extraordinary things occurred. When the Jews undertook to rebuild the temple in Jerusalem, fire burst forth from the foundations, preventing their work. And when Julian, in his madness, attempted to desecrate the sacred vessels, his uncle—who shared his name and was the keeper of the treasures—was the first to die, consumed by worms, while another man was struck down, his body split in two. A particularly significant miracle also occurred during the offering of sacrifices: the springs dried up, and during Julian’s reign, cities were afflicted with famine.

God commonly performs signs when evil increases. When He sees His servants oppressed and their adversaries reveling in tormenting them without measure, He shows His own sovereignty. Thus, He acted with the Jews in Persia. From this, it is evident that the evangelist did not divide the ancestors of Christ into three parts without reason or by chance. Observe with whom he begins and with whom he concludes. Beginning with Abraham, he traces the genealogy to David, then from David to the Babylonian captivity, and finally from the captivity to Christ Himself. Just as at the beginning of the genealogy both David and Abraham are placed together, so too are they both mentioned at its conclusion, for, as I have said earlier, promises were given to them.

Why, then, after mentioning the Babylonian captivity, does he not mention the sojourn in Egypt? Because the Jews no longer feared the Egyptians, but they still trembled before the Babylonians. Furthermore, the former had happened long ago, whereas the latter was more recent. Moreover, the exile into Egypt was not for their sins, but the captivity in Babylon was for their iniquities. If anyone desires to delve into the meanings of the names themselves, he will find much for contemplation here, much that serves to illuminate the New Testament—such as the names Abraham, Jacob, Solomon, and Zerubbabel, for these names were not given without purpose. However, lest we weary you with lengthiness, we will remain silent on this matter and focus on what is necessary.

Thus, when the evangelist listed all the ancestors and concluded with Joseph, he did not stop there but added, “Joseph, the husband of Mary” (Matthew 1:16), showing that it was on account of Mary that Joseph was mentioned in the genealogy. Then, lest you think upon hearing of Mary's husband that Jesus was born according to the common law of nature, observe how he dispels this notion with his subsequent words. “Now the birth of Jesus Christ was on this wise” (Matthew 1:18).

Tell me, of what birth do you speak? You have already told me of His ancestors. The evangelist, as if responding, says, “I wish to speak of the manner of His birth.” Do you see how he arouses the attention of the listener? As though intending to tell something new, he promises to explain the manner of the birth. Note also the excellent order of the narrative. He does not immediately begin to speak of the birth, but first reminds us who Christ is (in the order of generations)—from Abraham, from David, and from the Babylonian captivity. By doing so, he encourages the listener to carefully consider the timing, desiring to show that He is indeed the Christ who was foretold by the prophets. Indeed, when you count the generations and by the time learn that Jesus is indeed the Christ, then you will have no difficulty believing the miracle of His birth.

Since the evangelist needed to speak of the great mystery of the Virgin Birth, he first, without delving into the timing, intentionally obscures the narrative by mentioning Mary’s husband and even interrupts the account of the birth. Then he counts the years, reminding the listener that the One born is indeed He of whom the patriarch Jacob spoke, saying, “The sceptre shall not depart from Judah, nor a lawgiver from between his feet, until Shiloh come” (Genesis 49:10), and of whom the prophet Daniel foretold, saying, “Seventy weeks are determined” (Daniel 9:24). And if anyone wishes to calculate the years appointed by the angel to Daniel in terms of weeks, from the building of the city to the birth of Jesus, he will see that the time of His birth aligns with the prophecy.

So, tell me, how was Jesus born?

When as his mother Mary was espoused

He does not say "the Virgin," but simply "the mother," to make the narrative clearer. Yet, after leading the listener to expect something ordinary and holding them in this anticipation, he suddenly astonishes with the extraordinary, saying:

Before they came together, she was found with child of the Holy Ghost.

He does not say "before she was brought into the bridegroom's house," for she already dwelt there with him, as it was customary among the ancients for the betrothed to live in the same household, a practice that can still be observed today. Even Lot's sons-in-law dwelt in his house. Thus, Mary also lived in the same house with Joseph.

But why did she not conceive before the betrothal? This was, as I said earlier, so that the conception might remain hidden for a time and the Virgin avoid any unjust suspicion. The one who should have been the most jealous, Joseph, not only does not dismiss her or dishonor her, but instead accepts her and serves her during her pregnancy. It is evident that, unless he had been firmly assured of the conception being by the Holy Spirit, he would not have kept her with him and served her in every way.

The evangelist also expresses this vividly: "She was found with child"—as is commonly said about extraordinary events that occur beyond all expectation. Therefore, do not inquire further, demand nothing beyond what is stated, and do not ask how the Spirit formed the Child in the Virgin. If even in natural conception it is impossible to explain the manner of conception, how can it be explained when the Spirit works a miracle?

Lest you trouble the evangelist with frequent questions on this matter, he frees himself from such inquiries by naming the One who accomplished the miracle. "I know nothing more," he says, "but only that the event occurred by the power of the Holy Ghost." Let those be ashamed who strive to comprehend the supernatural birth! If no one can explain a natural birth, which has thousands of witnesses, which was foretold for centuries, which was visible and tangible, how much more senseless are those who curiously investigate and strive to comprehend an ineffable birth?

Neither Gabriel nor Matthew could say more than that the Child was of the Holy Ghost. But how and in what manner He was born of the Spirit, none of them explained, because it is impossible.

Do not think, moreover, that you know everything when you hear that Christ was born of the Spirit. Even knowing this, we still know little. For example, how can the infinite One dwell in the womb? How does the One who holds all things rest within a woman's body? How does the Virgin give birth and remain a virgin?

Tell me, how did the Spirit fashion this temple? How did He not take the whole flesh from the womb but only a part, which He then grew and formed? That Christ was indeed born of the Virgin's flesh is clearly shown by the evangelist's words: "Of whom was born Jesus" (Matthew 1:16); and by Paul's words: "Made of a woman" (Galatians 4:4). Paul explicitly says, "of a woman," closing the mouths of those who claim that Christ passed through Mary as through a channel.

If this were true, why would the Virgin's womb have been necessary? If this were true, then Christ has nothing in common with us; on the contrary, His flesh would differ from ours and not be of the same nature. How, then, could He be called "the root of Jesse"? "The rod"? "The Son of Man"? How could Mary be called His mother? How could it be said that Christ came from the seed of David? That He "took upon Him the form of a servant"? That "the Word was made flesh" (John 1:14)? Why, then, did Paul tell the Romans: "Of whom as concerning the flesh Christ came, who is over all, God blessed for ever" (Romans 9:5)?

From these and many other passages of Scripture, it is evident that Christ came from us, of our nature, from the Virgin's womb. But how this happened is not revealed. Therefore, do not seek to investigate further; believe what is disclosed and do not strive to comprehend what is withheld.

Then Joseph her husband, being a just man, and not willing to make her a publick example, was minded to put her away privily.

Having stated that the One born of the Virgin is of the Holy Ghost and without carnal union, the evangelist provides yet another proof for this. Someone might ask: How is this known? Who has seen or heard of anything like this happening before? To prevent you from suspecting that the disciple fabricated this out of love for his Master, the evangelist introduces Joseph, whose actions serve to confirm the truth of what was said.

The evangelist seems to say here: "If you do not believe me and suspect my testimony, then believe the husband." "Then Joseph her husband, being a just man," he says. Here he calls just the one who possesses all virtues. Although being just may mean refraining from taking what belongs to others, the term also signifies the entirety of virtues.

It is in this higher sense that Scripture uses the word just, as, for example, when it says: "This man was perfect and upright" (Job 1:1), and again: "And they were both righteous before God" (Luke 1:6).

Thus Joseph, being just, that is, kind and gentle, "was minded to put her away privily." The evangelist recounts what happened while Joseph was still unaware of the divine plan so that you would have no doubts about what transpired after his realization. Though the one suspected might seem deserving of shame, and though the law required even punishment, Joseph saved Mary not only from greater harm but even from lesser, that is, from disgrace. Not only did he refuse to punish her, but he also sought to avoid shaming her.

Do you not recognize in him a man of great wisdom, free from the most tormenting passion? You yourselves know the nature of jealousy. For this reason, one who fully understood this passion said: "Jealousy is the rage of a man: therefore he will not spare in the day of vengeance" (Proverbs 6:34), and "Jealousy is cruel as the grave" (Song of Solomon 8:6). We know of many who would rather lose their lives than endure suspicion and jealousy. Yet in this case, the matter went beyond mere suspicion: Mary bore clear evidence of pregnancy. Nevertheless, Joseph was so free from this passion that he did not wish to cause the Virgin even the slightest distress.

Since keeping her with him seemed contrary to the law, but exposing her and bringing her to trial would have meant condemning her to death, Joseph did neither. Instead, he acted beyond the law. Indeed, with the coming of grace, many signs of great wisdom were to appear. Just as the sun, even before its rays shine fully, illuminates much of the world from afar, so Christ, rising from the Virgin's womb, enlightened the whole universe even before His appearance. This is why, even before His birth, the prophets rejoiced, women foretold His coming, and John leapt in the womb.

Here, too, Joseph demonstrated great wisdom. He neither accused nor reproached the Virgin but merely intended to put her away quietly. While he was in this difficult position, an angel appeared and resolved all his doubts. It is worth examining why the angel did not come earlier, before Joseph had such thoughts, but only after he had pondered them. "But while he thought on these things" (Matthew 1:20), says the evangelist, the angel appeared. Meanwhile, to the Virgin, the angel announced the good tidings even before the conception—leading to another question.

Why, if the angel did not speak to Joseph, did the Virgin, who had heard from the angel and saw her betrothed in distress, not resolve his uncertainty? Why did the angel not speak to Joseph before his confusion arose?

Let us first address the initial question: Why did the angel not speak sooner? To ensure that Joseph would not exhibit disbelief or face the same consequence as Zacharias. It is not difficult to believe in something when it is already evident, but when there is no sign of its beginning, words are harder to accept. For this reason, the angel did not speak at first, and likewise, the Virgin remained silent.

She reasoned that her betrothed would not be convinced by her account of so extraordinary an event and that, instead, she would upset him, causing him to think she was attempting to conceal a wrongdoing. Even she, upon hearing of such grace being granted to her, judged according to human reasoning and said: "How shall this be, seeing I know not a man?" (Luke 1:34). How much more, then, would Joseph have doubted, especially hearing such news from the woman he suspected?

This is why the Virgin said nothing to Joseph, and the angel appeared only when the circumstances required it. Why, then, one might ask, was this not done similarly with the Virgin—why was she not informed after the conception? To protect her from confusion and greater distress. Without clear knowledge of the matter, she might naturally have resolved to harm herself, unable to bear the shame, perhaps resorting to the noose or the sword. Truly, the Virgin was remarkable in every way. The evangelist Luke, in depicting her virtue, writes that when she heard the angel's greeting, she did not immediately give herself over to joy or fully believe what was said but was troubled and considered, "What manner of salutation this should be" (Luke 1:29).

Being of such strict principles, the Virgin might, out of sorrow, have lost her reason, contemplating the shame and seeing no hope that anyone would believe her claim that her pregnancy was not the result of adultery. To prevent this, the angel came to her before the conception. It was necessary for her, in whose womb the Creator of all would dwell, to experience no confusion; her soul, chosen to serve such mysteries, had to be free from all distress.

This is why the angel announced the news to the Virgin before conception but to Joseph during her pregnancy. Many, out of simplicity or misunderstanding, have imagined a contradiction between Luke, who writes of the annunciation to Mary, and Matthew, who writes of the annunciation to Joseph, not realizing that both occurred. The same principle must be applied throughout the Gospel narrative to resolve many seeming contradictions.

Thus, the angel comes to Joseph in his distress. Until this moment, there had been no appearance, both for the reasons given above and to reveal Joseph's wisdom and discretion. But when the matter was close to its fulfillment, the angel finally appeared.

But while he thought on these things, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a dream.

Do you see the gentleness of this man? Not only did he refrain from punishing her, but he also told no one, not even Mary herself, and kept his distress entirely to himself. The evangelist does not say that Joseph sought to cast her out but to put her away, showing his kindness and humility.

"But while he thought on these things," the angel appeared to him in a dream. Why not openly, as the angel appeared to the shepherds, Zacharias, or Mary? Joseph possessed great faith and did not need such a direct manifestation. The Virgin required an extraordinary appearance before the event, as the message given to her was of the utmost importance, far exceeding that given to Zacharias. The shepherds, being simple people, also needed an open revelation.

Joseph's revelation came after the conception, when his soul was burdened by troubling suspicions yet prepared to embrace hope if someone would guide him toward it. The angel's message followed his inner struggle, serving as confirmation of what was revealed. What Joseph had spoken to no one, what he had only pondered in his mind, he heard spoken by the angel. This was undeniable proof that the angel came with a message from God, for it is God alone who knows the secrets of the heart.

Do you see how many purposes are fulfilled here? Joseph's wisdom is revealed; the timing of the message strengthens his faith; and the narrative itself becomes irrefutable, as it shows that Joseph was in exactly the state of mind one would expect under such circumstances.

How does the angel reassure Joseph? Listen and marvel at the wisdom in the angel's words. Appearing to him, the angel says: "Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife" (Matthew 1:20). Immediately, he reminds Joseph of David, from whom Christ was to come, and dispels Joseph's confusion by invoking the ancestry and the promise made to that lineage. Why else would he call him the son of David?

"Fear not." In other cases, God acts differently; for instance, when someone plotted what should not be done against Abraham’s wife, God used strong expressions and threats, even though ignorance was the cause. Pharaoh took Sarah into his house unknowingly, yet God instilled fear in him. But here, God acts more gently because the matter at hand is exceedingly important, and there is a great difference between Pharaoh and Joseph, making threats unnecessary.

By saying, "Fear not," the angel reveals that Joseph feared offending God by keeping a woman in his house whom he suspected of adultery. For if this had not been the case, he would not have thought to put her away. Thus, everything reveals that the angel was sent by God, as he discloses and recounts all that Joseph had pondered and what troubled his mind.

Having mentioned the Virgin’s name, the angel does not stop there but adds: "thy wife," a title he would not have used if her virginity had been defiled. Here, wife refers to one who is betrothed, as Scripture often uses this term for those pledged in marriage before its consummation.

What does "to take" mean? It means to keep her in his house, for Joseph had already resolved in his mind to send her away. The angel says, "Keep her with you," as if saying, "God entrusts her to you, not her parents." And this entrustment is not for marriage but for living together, as a guardian. Just as Christ later entrusted her to His disciple, so now she is entrusted to Joseph.

The angel, having hinted at the reason for his appearance, tactfully avoids mentioning Joseph’s troubling suspicion. Yet, he eliminates it gently and decently by explaining the cause of the conception, showing that for the very reason Joseph feared and wished to put her away, he should instead accept and keep her. Thus, the angel completely relieves Joseph of his anxiety.

"For that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost" (Matthew 1:20). She is not only innocent of unlawful union, the angel explains, but has conceived in a supernatural manner. Therefore, do not merely set aside your fear but rejoice instead!

This is a strange matter, exceeding human understanding and surpassing the laws of nature. How would Joseph, who had never heard of such an event, believe it? By revealing the past, says the angel. He uncovers all that Joseph had been thinking about, what had troubled him, what he feared, and what he had decided, thereby reassuring him of the truth.

More accurately, the angel reassures Joseph not only with the past but also with the future. "And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Jesus" (Matthew 1:21). Though He is conceived of the Holy Ghost, do not think you are excluded from your role in the incarnation. Even though you did not contribute to the conception, and the Virgin remains untouched, I grant you what pertains to a father without diminishing her virginity: you shall name the child.

"Thou shalt call His name Jesus." Though He is not your son, you shall stand in place of a father to Him. By naming Him, you are united to Him as His earthly guardian.

Then, to ensure no one concludes that Joseph is His father, note the angel's careful wording: "And she shall bring forth a son." He does not say, "She shall bring forth a son to thee," but states it in general terms, "She shall bring forth a son," for Mary bore not to Joseph, but to the whole world.

This is why the name was brought by the angel from heaven: to show that the one being born is wondrous, for God Himself sent the name from above through the angel to Joseph. Indeed, it was no mere name but a treasure of innumerable blessings. Thus, the angel explains its significance, inspires Joseph with hope, and thereby leads him to faith. We are naturally more inclined toward hope, and therefore more readily believe in it.

Having confirmed Joseph’s faith by referring to the past, the future, the present, and the honor bestowed upon him, the angel fittingly recalls the words of the prophet, which affirm everything he has said. But before quoting the prophet, the angel proclaims the blessings that the one being born will bring to the world. And what are these blessings? Deliverance from sin and its obliteration.

"For he shall save his people from their sins" (Matthew 1:21).

Here, too, something wondrous is proclaimed: deliverance not from physical battles, not from barbarians, but—what is far greater—from sins, which no one before Him had been able to forgive.

Why, then, does the angel say, "his people" and not explicitly add "and the Gentiles"? To avoid astonishing the listener too suddenly. Yet the discerning hearer could understand that the Gentiles are also included, for His people are not only the Jews but all who come to Him and receive knowledge from Him. Observe how the angel reveals His dignity by calling the Jewish nation "his people." By this, the angel shows that the one being born is the Son of God and speaks of the heavenly King, for no other power but this one being alone can forgive sins.

Therefore, having received such a gift, let us take all measures to avoid mocking so great a blessing. If our sins were worthy of punishment even before such an honor, how much more so after receiving such an ineffable grace.

I say this now with reason. I see that many, after baptism, live more negligently than the unbaptized and exhibit no sign of Christian living. Thus, it is difficult to distinguish the believer from the unbeliever in the marketplace or even in the church—except during the mysteries, when some are dismissed, and others remain in the temple. Yet, it ought to be by one’s character, not merely one’s location, that such distinctions are made.

External dignities are typically recognized by external signs, but our dignity must be discerned by the soul. A believer should be evident not only by the gift received but also by their renewed life. A believer should be a light to the world and the salt of the earth. But if you do not shine even for yourself, if you do not prevent your own corruption, how shall we know you? By the fact that you were immersed in sacred waters? But this can lead to your condemnation. The greatness of the honor increases the punishment for those unwilling to live in accordance with it.

A believer should shine not only with what they have received from God but also with what they personally possess. They should be evident in everything—in their walk, their gaze, their appearance, and their speech. I say this so that we may observe propriety not for show but for the benefit of those who look upon us.

But now, wherever I try to discern you, I find you in the opposite state. If I judge you by your surroundings, I see you at horse races, at spectacles, spending your days in lawlessness, in wicked gatherings, in the marketplace, among dissolute people. If I judge you by your demeanor, I see you constantly laughing and distracted, like a wanton harlot whose mouth is never closed.

If I judge you by your clothing, I see you dressed no better than a stage actor. If I judge you by your companions, I see you surrounded by idlers and flatterers. If I judge you by your words, I hear nothing wholesome, nothing edifying, nothing useful for our lives. If I judge you by your table, I find even more reasons for condemnation there.

So, tell me, by what can I recognize that you are faithful when everything I have enumerated testifies to the contrary? And what am I saying—faithful? I cannot even be sure that you are human. When you kick like a donkey, charge like an ox, neigh after women like a horse, gorge yourself like a bear, fatten your flesh like a mule, harbor grudges like a camel, are ravenous like a wolf, irritable like a serpent, stinging like a scorpion, cunning like a fox, and store up the venom of malice like an asp or viper, and when you wage enmity against your brothers like a wicked demon—how can I consider you human when I see no signs of human nature in you?

When I seek to distinguish between the catechumen and the faithful, I risk not even finding a distinction between man and beast. How, indeed, can I call you a beast? For each beast possesses only one of these vices. But you, combining all vices within yourself, far surpass them in your irrationality. Should I call you a demon? But a demon does not indulge in gluttony or covet money. When there are more vices in you than in beasts or demons, tell me, how can you be called human? And if you cannot be called human, how can you be named faithful?

What is most grievous is that, while in such a wretched state, we do not even think about the disfigurement of our soul, nor do we have any sense of its hideousness. When you sit at the barber’s and have your hair cut, you take up a mirror, carefully examine your hairstyle, and ask those nearby, and even the barber, if your hair is properly arranged on your forehead. As an old man, you often shamelessly indulge in youthful fantasies. Yet, concerning the fact that our soul is not merely disfigured but has become beast-like, or even worse, resembling the monstrous Scylla or Chimera from pagan fables, we feel nothing.

And yet, we do have a spiritual mirror, one far better and more useful than any material mirror, for it not only reveals our disfigurement but also, if we are willing, transforms it into incomparable beauty. This mirror is found in the remembrance of virtuous men, the accounts of their blessed lives, the reading of Scripture, and the laws given by God. If you choose to look into the images of the saints, you will see the hideousness of your heart; and seeing it, you will no longer need anything else to rid yourself of your disfigurement.

This is why this mirror is so beneficial—it makes transformation possible. Let no one remain in the likeness of the irrational. If a slave is not allowed into the house of his father, how can you enter the gates of the house of God while being a beast? And what am I saying—a beast? Such a person is worse than any beast. A beast, though naturally wild, can often be tamed through human effort. But you, who transform their natural wildness into unnatural gentleness, what excuse will you have when you turn your natural gentleness into unnatural wildness?

You tame the wild by nature, yet you turn your own nature, which is gentle, into something wild and unnatural. You subdue the lion and make it docile, yet you allow your own anger to become more uncontrollable than a lion's. In the case of taming animals, there are two great difficulties: the beast lacks reason, and it is exceedingly fierce. Yet you, by the wisdom granted to you by God, overcome even nature. How is it, then, that while you triumph over nature in beasts, you corrupt both nature and the perfection of will in yourself?

If I were to command you to make another person gentle, you would not consider my command impossible, though you might object that you have no control over another's will and that not everything depends on you. But now I am commanding you to subdue your own beast, over which you have complete authority.

How, then, will you justify yourself for failing to master your own nature? What plausible excuse can you offer for transforming a lion into a man while neglecting yourself, turning yourself from a man into a lion? You elevate the wild beasts beyond their nature, yet you fail to preserve even the natural qualities within yourself. You strive to bring wild animals to a noble state equal to ours, yet you hurl yourself down from the royal throne of humanity into the madness of beasts.

Imagine, if you will, that anger itself is a beast. Just as others labor diligently to train lions, so you must exert equal effort to tame yourself, making your untamed mind calm and gentle. Anger has teeth and claws so terrifying that it will destroy everything unless subdued. Even a lion or a viper cannot ravage one’s inner being with the same cruelty as anger, which ceaselessly tears at the soul with iron claws.

Anger not only harms the body but also destroys the very health of the soul. It consumes, rends, and shatters its strength, rendering it utterly incapable of anything good. Just as someone whose insides are infested with worms cannot breathe because their internal organs are devoured, so we, carrying within us the serpent of anger, cannot produce anything noble.

How, then, can we rid ourselves of this affliction? By using the drink that can kill the worms and serpents within. What is this drink, you ask, that has such power? The precious blood of Christ, when received with faith and hope. This blood can heal every ailment. Alongside it, attentive listening to the Holy Scriptures and the practice of almsgiving are essential. By these means, the passions that weaken our soul can be put to death.

Only then can we truly live; as long as our passions live, we are no better than the dead. It is impossible to live while the passions thrive; we are inevitably bound to perish. If we do not succeed in killing them here, they will kill us there. Indeed, even here, before the final death, they will subject us to the most severe torment.

Each passion is cruel, torturous, and insatiable, devouring us daily without ever being satisfied. Their teeth are like lion’s teeth—or worse, far more fearsome. When a lion is full, it immediately leaves its prey. But the passions never relent, nor do they cease until they drag their captive to the devil.

Such is the power of the passions: they demand from their captives the same devotion Paul gave to Christ, despising both hell and the kingdom for His sake. Anyone consumed by carnal lust, greed, or ambition begins to scorn hell and disregard the kingdom, so long as they can fulfill the demands of these passions.

Let us, then, believe Paul’s testimony that he so greatly loved Christ. If there are people who serve their passions with equal fervor, why should Paul’s love seem unbelievable? Our love for Christ is weaker because all our strength is exhausted on sinful loves. We become predators, lovers of money, and slaves to empty glory.

And what could be more worthless than such glory? Even if you become a thousand times more famous, you are no better than the most unknown individual. On the contrary, it will make you even more dishonorable. When those who praise and exalt you mock you for desiring their approval, does not your ambition achieve the opposite of your intent?

Such people act as accusers. Those who praise someone given to adultery or fornication and flatter him actually condemn him more than they praise him. Likewise, when we all praise someone who is addicted to vanity, we are actually exposing his fault rather than truly praising him.

Why, then, do you care so much for something whose consequences are always contrary to your goals? If you wish to be glorified, despise glory, and you will be more honored than anyone. Why subject yourself to the same folly as Nebuchadnezzar? He erected a statue, thinking to gain even greater renown from a lifeless image of wood, hoping to glorify himself—who was alive—through something that had no life. Do you see the height of his madness? Believing he was honoring himself, he actually disgraced himself, showing that he trusted more in an inanimate object than in himself or his living soul, giving such preference to a piece of wood.

Is he not worthy of ridicule for seeking his glory not in his character but in planks? This is like someone boasting more about the floor of their house or a beautiful staircase than about their humanity. And yet, many among us today imitate Nebuchadnezzar. Just as he sought to amaze with his statue, some now seek to astonish with their clothing, others with their houses, mules, chariots, or the columns in their homes.

Having lost the dignity of their humanity, they wander around seeking ridiculous glory in these external things. The great and renowned servants of God did not shine in this way, but in the way they ought. They were prisoners, slaves, youths, and foreigners; they owned nothing of their own yet were far more honorable than those who had everything in abundance. Neither an enormous statue, nor nobles, nor leaders, nor countless armies, nor vast riches, nor all the splendor of Nebuchadnezzar could satisfy his desire to appear great. But for the servants of God, deprived of everything, their wisdom alone was sufficient to make them shine.

Having nothing of their own, they were as much more radiant than those wearing crowns and purple robes and possessing everything as the sun is brighter than pearls. Young men, captive slaves, were brought forth as a spectacle to the whole world. As soon as they appeared, the king's eyes blazed with fury. Surrounded by governors, officials, commanders, and an entire demonic assembly, with the sound of flutes, trumpets, and every musical instrument filling the air up to heaven, they stood unmoved. The furnace blazed to an unimaginable height, and its flames reached the very clouds. Everything was filled with terror and dread.

Yet nothing frightened these young men. On the contrary, laughing as though at a child’s play, they displayed both courage and gentleness. Louder than the trumpets, they boldly declared: "Be it known unto thee, O king" (Daniel 3:18).

They did not even wish to insult their tormentor but sought only to demonstrate their piety. Therefore, they did not engage in lengthy speeches but expressed everything briefly: "Our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace" (Daniel 3:17).

Why parade the multitude before us? What is the furnace to us? What are sharp swords or terrifying spearmen? Our Lord is greater and mightier than all of these.

Then, considering that perhaps it was God's will to allow them to be burned—so that even in such a case they would not be accused of lying—they added, "But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods" (Daniel 3:18).

Had they, supposing that God would not deliver them, said it was because of their sins, the king would not have believed them. Therefore, before the king, they remained silent about sins, speaking only of their unwavering faithfulness to God, even if they were to be burned. In the furnace, however, they recalled all their sins. Before the king, they said nothing of the sort but only declared that they would not forsake their piety, even if it meant death by fire.

They did everything they did not for rewards or recompense but out of pure love. Despite being captives and slaves, deprived of their homeland, freedom, and all possessions, they remained faithful. Do not speak to me of the honors they received in the royal court. These holy and righteous youths would have much preferred to beg for alms in their homeland and delight in the beauty of the temple, as David says: "I had rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in the tents of wickedness" (Psalm 83:11). And again, "For a day in thy courts is better than a thousand" (Psalm 83:11).

They would have a thousand times preferred to be the least in their homeland than to reign in Babylon. This is evident from what they said in the furnace about the hardships of living in Babylon. Although they themselves enjoyed great honors, they were deeply grieved by the sufferings of others. Such is the distinguishing mark of the saints: they value neither glory nor honor nor anything else above the salvation of others.

See how they prayed in the furnace for the entire nation. But we, even in times of peace and ease, forget our brethren. Similarly, when they sought to interpret dreams, it was not for their own benefit but for the good of many. That they despised death is proven by many later examples. They were ready for anything to appease God. Recognizing their own inadequacy, they turned to their forefathers, saying that they could bring nothing but a contrite spirit.

Let us imitate them. For we, too, face a golden image—the tyrannical power of mammon. Let us not heed the timbrels, trumpets, harps, and other lures of wealth. Even if we must enter the furnace of poverty, let us prefer this poverty to bowing to the idol. And in that furnace, a dewy mist will descend, bringing coolness amidst the flames.

Therefore, let us not fear the furnace of poverty. Back then, those cast into the furnace became radiant, while those who bowed to the idol perished. In their time, everything occurred at once, but now one part is fulfilled here, another in the life to come, and yet another both here and there. Those who embrace poverty to avoid bowing to mammon will shine both now and in eternity. But those who unjustly enrich themselves will suffer the harshest punishment in the life to come.

From the furnace of poverty, Lazarus emerged, shining no less brightly than the three youths. But the rich man, who belonged to those who bowed to the idol, was condemned to the torment of hell. One serves as a type of the other. Just as those cast into the furnace suffered no harm while those outside were instantly consumed, so it will be then.

The saints, crossing the fiery river, will feel nothing unpleasant but will appear joyful. But those who bowed to the idol will find the fire raging against them more ferociously than any beast, dragging them into hell.

If anyone doubts the existence of hell, let them see the Chaldean furnace and be convinced of the future through the present. Let them fear not the furnace of poverty but the furnace of sin. Sin is a flame and torment, while poverty is dew and refreshment. In the furnace of sin, the devil stands. But in the furnace of poverty, angels are present, repelling the flames.

Let the rich take heed, those who kindle the flames of poverty! They will cause no harm to the poor, for the dew descends upon them. Instead, they will make themselves the victims of the fire they have ignited with their own hands. Back then, an angel descended to the three youths; now, we must descend to those in the furnace of poverty and bring dew through almsgiving, extinguishing the flames—so that we too may receive crowns along with them, and so that the voice of Christ may scatter the flames of hell for us as well: “I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink” (Matthew 25:35). That voice will be for us like a dew-laden breeze amidst the fire.

Let us descend with almsgiving into the furnace of poverty. Let us look upon the wise who walk within it, treading upon the coals. Let us witness this new and wondrous miracle: a person singing in the furnace, a person in the fire giving thanks, one bound by extreme poverty offering great praise to Christ. Whoever endures poverty with gratitude is equal to the three youths, for poverty is more frightening than fire and often burns more fiercely. Yet the flames did not burn the youths, and their bonds were loosed the moment they gave thanks to the Lord.

Likewise now: if you, when falling into poverty, give thanks, your bonds will be loosened, and the fire will be extinguished. And if it is not extinguished, an even greater miracle will occur—the fire will become a source of refreshment, as it did then. In the midst of the furnace, they were cooled by pure dew, which, though it did not extinguish the flames, prevented the fire from burning those cast into it.

The same can be observed among the wise: even in poverty, they are freer from fear than the rich. Therefore, let us not stand outside the furnace—that is, let us not lack compassion for the poor—lest we suffer the same fate as those who stood around the furnace back then. If you descend to the youths and stand with them, the fire will not harm you. But if you stand above, merely observing those who are in the fire of poverty, the flames will consume you.

So descend into the fire, that you may not burn in the fire. Do not remain outside it, lest the flames draw you in. If the fire finds you alongside the poor, it will retreat from you; but if it sees you avoiding them, it will attack and consume you at once.

Do not separate yourself from those who have been cast into the fire. When the devil, who commands those who do not bow to gold, orders others to cast them into the furnace of poverty, ensure you are among the cast down, not the ones casting down—so that you may be among the saved, not the consumed. Refusing to submit to the passion of greed and living in fellowship with the poor is the most abundant dew.

Whoever has trampled the passion for wealth is richer than all. Just as the youths who scorned the king became more glorious than the king, so too, if you despise all worldly things, you will become more precious than the entire world, like the saints “of whom the world was not worthy” (Hebrews 11:38).

Therefore, to become worthy of heaven, despise what is present. Then you will gain great glory here and delight in future blessings, through the grace and lovingkindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.

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-From the Book Homilies on the Nativity of Christ