Homily on the Fourth Sunday After Pascha
By Saint Innocent, Archbishop of Kherson and Tauride
By Saint Innocent, Archbishop of Kherson and Tauride
“In these (porches) lay a great multitude of the sick—blind, lame, paralyzed—waiting for the moving of the water” (John 5:3).
It is not surprising that by the Pool of Siloam there was a very great number of the sick: for in it there acted the power of God, yet its action was very limited. Not many angels descended into the pool, but only one: “an angel of the Lord” (John 5:4). And that one angel did not descend every day, but only once a year. And once a year he descended not upon all the streams of the Siloam spring, but upon one principal one: “he went down into the pool.” Moreover, not everyone who entered the pool after the troubling of the water received healing, but only the one who entered it first: “and whoever stepped in first after the troubling of the water was made well” (John 5:4).
But can we, brethren, fail to marvel when we find a multitude of the sick at the Christian pool, at the pool of grace, of which the Pool of Siloam was only a faint image? Here it is not one angel, but the whole choir of the purest spirits, together with the Son of God Himself and the Holy Spirit, who descend to earth to give healing to the suffering; here it is not one pool that pours forth healing, but, one may say, as many pools as there are diseases and as there are the sick; here the fountain of life is not opened once a year, but, having once flowed forth from the pierced side of the Redeemer, it flows through all times and ages; here not only the one who comes first receives healing, but all — from the first to the last — whoever and whenever they may come. And yet, if we judge by the number of those healed in proportion to the abundance of the remedies given, the Christian pool heals fewer sick than the Pool of Siloam.
Why is this so? Why do the rivers of grace poured out upon us not give us spiritual health, when even a single drop of them would suffice to open within us a fountain of water springing up into eternal life? Can we, like the paralytic, say: “I have no man, when the water is troubled, to put me into the pool” (John 5:7)? But at the pool of grace there is a multitude of spiritual physicians and helpers; moreover, God Himself, having established it, casts the sick into it. Still more, shall we dare, like that same paralytic, to say that we have come to it, yet have not received healing? To speak thus would be to deceive ourselves, and to make God Himself out to be false — He who has said that “if we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9). On the contrary, without any doubt it must be said that to many of you the Heavenly Physician has already spoken, and perhaps more than once: “Rise, take up your bed, and walk” — and yet they continue to lie carelessly in their sins!
What, then, is the reason that the almighty power of grace cannot heal our spiritual infirmities? The cause, brethren, lies in ourselves; the cause is our unwillingness.
“But is it possible that any of us truly does not want his salvation and condemns himself to become a prey of hell? By the grace of God, we have not yet come to such hardness.” Indeed, brethren, we have not yet reached such a ruinous state; we do desire to be saved. And if to each one of us, as to the paralytic, the Heavenly Physician were to put the question: “Do you wish to be made well?”, then without doubt each would answer: “Yes, Lord, I do.” But would everyone be speaking the truth? How many would there be who, not intending to deceive the All-knowing One, would in this case deceive themselves! Ah, nowhere do we deceive ourselves so much as in the matter of our own salvation — though nowhere is deception so destructive as in this matter!
He who sincerely desires his salvation does everything that serves toward salvation. He who sincerely desires his salvation avoids everything that hinders the work of salvation. These two signs are as true as they are simple: let us make use of them for our instruction.
1. He who sincerely desires his salvation fulfills everything that serves toward salvation.
The example of the paralytic serves as the most convincing proof of this truth. For more than half his life stretched upon a bed of illness — which had taken from him everything except the desire for health — abandoned by all people and by all the members of his own body, he gathers his last remaining strength in order to offer it as a sacrifice to the desire for life; he rises from his bed of thirty-eight years and drags himself toward the healing pool. Already he reaches the final limit of his short and yet long journey; already he perceives the signs of the approaching stirring of the water; already he is ready to cast himself into the pool — and suddenly he sees that the healing has been anticipated by another! What a trial for one to whom passing through the five porches of Siloam cost more than it would for another to traverse all the cities of Judea! Yet the paralytic in body does not grow weak in spirit: each year he is subjected to the same trial, and each year he comes to the pool. Is it not evident, brethren, that he sincerely desired his healing, since he did everything he could for it?
Do we act in this way? Do we do everything we can for our salvation? We cannot, by our own strength, perform works truly pleasing to God; still less can we by ourselves tear out the root of sin that lives within us. But we can sigh for the freedom of the children of God; we can implore our Heavenly Father that our soul may be brought out from the prison of sin. We can, by faithfulness to the remnants of natural light, make ourselves capable of receiving the grace of God. All the more, having received it, we can and must labor together with it for our perfection in virtue, to “stir up the gift of God that is within you” (2 Tim. 1:6), by fervent prayer, by reading the word of God, by associating with those who have advanced in the spiritual life. We can and must, “forgetting those things which are behind, reach forward to those things which are ahead” (Phil. 3:13), “seek the greater” and better gifts (1 Cor. 12:31), “be ready for every good work” (2 Tim. 3:17), always to abound more in “the work of the Lord” (1 Cor. 15:58), and to seek out ways of accomplishing all that is “true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, of good report,” whatever is virtue and worthy of praise (Phil. 4:8).
Do we put this precious possibility into practice? Do we nourish within ourselves a sincere desire to become better than we are by nature? Do we strive to be blameless before the judgment of our conscience, and do we preserve its purity? Do we courageously go out to battle against our passions, or do we yield them the victory over us without any struggle? Do we implore God for help, and do we faithfully use the means given to us for our salvation? Do we zealously engage in reading the word of God, and do we strive to correct the faults we notice in ourselves when we look into this mirror of truth? Do we often enter our inner chamber to confess before our Heavenly Father our sins, and do we always shut the door behind us? Are we filled with joy when we are told, “Let us go into the house of the Lord” (Ps. 121:1), and do we enter it with a contrite heart and a humble spirit? Do we imitate the holy people of God, and do we take delight in associating with them? Do we rejoice when we find an opportunity to help suffering humanity, and do we grieve when we cannot comfort a distressed brother except by wishing him help from above?
He with whom all this takes place, brethren, cannot possibly have a life like that of lovers of the world. Such a person looks at everything earthly in relation to the heavenly; in everything visible he seeks the invisible and eternal. He is ready to renounce everything and count all things as loss in order to gain Christ or not to lose Him. For him, the thought of eternity is the first and last thought; the perfection of himself in virtue is the first and last desire. His most pleasant moments in life are when he can freely give himself to reflection or conversation about the blessedness of his heavenly brethren; his most sorrowful moments are when he does not feel an inward attraction toward heaven. He is not disturbed by any changes in life, except those in which his salvation — or that of his brethren — is endangered. He judges the happiness or unhappiness of his neighbors, their worthiness or unworthiness, not by their success in worldly affairs, but by their progress in love and self-denial. Even his pleasures are tinged with longing for the heavenly homeland; even his dreams present holy images of the hopes of his heart. In short, his life is a visible preparation for a better life, for the future abiding with God.
Is our life such as this, brethren? If it is, then we sincerely desire salvation, and we may boldly knock at the doors of divine mercy, being fully assured that it will not be said to us: “I do not know you” (Matt. 25:12). But if it is not so, then judge for yourselves: can one sincerely desire salvation and yet not do what serves toward salvation? And yet, brethren, how many among us will be found of whom their own conscience must say in this case: it is not so, it is not so!
2. He who sincerely desires his salvation withdraws from everything that hinders the work of salvation.
“Behold,” once said the Apostle Paul to the Corinthians, “we have become a spectacle.” What do those who compete there not deny themselves? From what do they not abstain, in order to make themselves more fit to obtain the victor’s crown? And yet what is this crown for which they renounce everything? A perishable crown, which often withers before it even adorns the head of the victor. If, then, they, as the Apostle continues, abstain from everything in order to obtain a corruptible crown, can we refrain from abstaining, we who strive for an incorruptible one?
Is this apostolic teaching fulfilled in us, brethren? Do we withdraw from everything that can hinder our salvation? We know that all that is in the world is “the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life,” and that “he who loves the world does not have the love of the Father” (1 John 2:16, 15), that friendship with the world “is enmity with God” (James 4:4). Do we follow the apostolic counsel: “Do not love the world, nor the things in the world” (1 John 2:15), refraining from speaking and acting in a worldly manner?
We know that flesh and blood cannot inherit the Kingdom of God, that the law of the flesh is in all things opposed to the law of the spirit, that pleasing the flesh leads into the captivity of sin — do we crucify our flesh “with its passions and desires” (Gal. 5:24)? Do we “put to death” its earthly members (Col. 3:5)? Do we take delight “in weaknesses, in insults, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses” (2 Cor. 12:10), which, while afflicting the flesh, give wings to the spirit?
We know that by associating with a corrupt person, one may become corrupt oneself, that evil communications corrupt even the best morals. Do we turn away from “every brother” who walks disorderly? Do we avoid “the assembly of the wicked,” and flee from the path of the ungodly “and the seat of the scornful” (Ps. 1:1)?
We know that distraction, while hindering success in worldly affairs, all the more damages progress in piety; that he whose eyes wander to the ends of the earth cannot have a whole mind or heart. Do we withdraw from worldly noise? Do we avoid those situations in which we may lose sight of our duty, our conscience, and our salvation? Do we flee, like David, into the desert of the heart, there to await salvation from the Lord (Ps. 54:8–9)?
We know that passions are the most dangerous enemies of virtue, and that the man possessed by them is like a wave of the sea, driven and tossed by the wind. Do we bar them from entering our hearts, and do we drive them out if they force their way in?
He who does all this, brethren, will not let the sun “go down on his anger” (Eph. 4:26); he is ready to say even to the most moderate amusement: “What are you doing?” (Eccl. 2:2). He not only does not complain about the laws of fasting and restraint prescribed by the Church, but even extends their influence to all the needs of his body, and by his own example strives to affirm their importance and defend them against accusations of severity. Even while showing some condescension to the flesh, he never ceases to regard it as sluggish dust weighing down the active spirit; and while honoring it as a future co-heir of eternal glory, he vigilantly pursues it now as a traitor in battle.
He does not enter into friendship with anyone until he is fully convinced that they can share not only earthly hopes, but especially heavenly ones; and he immediately dissolves such a bond when he notices that his companion begins to love human glory more than divine. For him, the whole world, with all its charms, is a sorrowful land of exile; all earthly goods are suspect, for he knows that even the most innocent of them have destroyed many forever. In short, his entire life is a gradual withdrawal from worldly vanity, a steadily increasing victory over sensuality.
Is our life like this, brethren? If it is, then we sincerely desire our salvation, and without doubt we shall soon hear the longed-for voice: “Rise, take up your bed, and walk” (John 5:8). But if it is not so, then no matter how much we speak of our desire to be saved, such a desire is not in us; for judge for yourselves — can one desire salvation and not withdraw from what hinders it? And yet, brethren, how many among us must hear even here the voice of their own conscience saying: not so, not so!
What, then, is our life like? Do we at least do for heaven what we do for the earth? Do we do for the gaining of salvation what we do for preserving health, for healing our illnesses, for acquiring honor and wealth, for maintaining the favor of those above us, for securing fleeting advantages and brief pleasures? What a shameful comparison! And yet, perhaps even more shameful for many of us is the conclusion — for does not conscience again say: we do not even do this!
Do we then do anything at all for our salvation? Certainly, brethren, each of us does something — but how many are there in whom this “something,” upon strict and impartial examination, turns out to be nothing!
What then do we do? Whatever we may do, if we do not do it for God, then we do it for His enemy, for our own destruction, for hell.
And yet what do we desire and seek? Heaven, eternity, God! Ah, brethren, can we, in our spiritual inactivity, without feeling shame, even name the lofty objects of our desires? We mock those who use weak and ineffective means to achieve something important in worldly matters, calling them dreamers and foolish people. What, then, should we call ourselves, who hope to receive from the Heavenly Judge an entire heaven as a reward for such labor as earthly judges would not consider worthy even of a small plot of land?
The ancient defenders of Christianity reproached the pagan philosophers because, while demanding much from man, they promised him very little. But could not today’s pagans reproach many Christians for promising themselves everything while requiring nothing of themselves? Is it any wonder, then, that in our times some have doubted the very existence of heavenly rewards? Alas! The shameful coldness toward heaven of Christians themselves — those for whom heaven exists — can make anyone ask: does heaven even exist?
Is it surprising that some have doubted the very action of grace upon the human heart? Receiving this divine power in vain, hiding it without fruit, and as it were destroying it within ourselves through complete neglect, we inevitably open the way to doubt its reality and even its existence. Thus, our weakness and inactivity in the work of salvation become the cause that, in the eyes of the perishing, even God Himself appears inactive!
Thus, the treasure of grace, given to us for the attainment of eternal riches, through our misuse not only fails to enrich us, but even becomes a reason for reproach against Him who gives it! What do you think, brethren, can be the consequence of such abuse of grace?
The Just One will not punish us as He punished the ancient Israelites by turning His face away from us; He will not hide Himself in a cloud so that our prayer cannot reach Him; He will not take away prophets and leaders from us, nor send upon us a famine of His word. He will leave us even the very Body and Blood of His Son — but He will take away His grace!
Then our prophets and leaders themselves will speak vain things to us (Lam. 2:14); then we shall pray, and our prayer, instead of cleansing our sins, will itself become sin (Ps. 108:7); we shall read or hear the word of God, and instead of “the fragrance of life,” we shall perceive in it “the fragrance of death” (2 Cor. 2:16); we shall partake of the Flesh and Blood of Christ, and this food of salvation will serve only for judgment and condemnation. Then — terrible even to think! — the very rays of heavenly mercy will serve only to hasten our ripening, like fruits of wrath, for eternal destruction.
I know, brethren, that now such warnings may not seem important to many of us when heard from this sacred place; yet, if we are willing, they can save us. It will be important — very important — to remember them before the Throne surrounded by myriads of angels; but then they will save none of us.
Therefore, while the pool of grace has not ceased to be stirred by the merits of our Mediator, let us gather the last remnants of our spiritual strength, that we may draw near to it and cast into it the burden of sins that weighs us down. Amen.
Source: Translated by John Sanidopoulos.