On Saint Eustathius of Antioch

1A certain wise man, one who knew how to live virtuously, had studied the nature of human affairs with precision. He recognized their rottenness, and saw that they contain nothing trustworthy or secure. So he offers this counsel to all people alike: do not call anyone blessed before his death. Since the blessed Eustathius has now died, we can at last praise him with complete confidence. For if no one should be called blessed before death, then after death the blessing of those who deserve it is beyond reproach. He has crossed the strait of life's affairs. He has been freed from the turmoil of the waves. He has sailed into the calm, untroubled harbor. He is no longer subject to the uncertainty of the future, nor is he liable to a fall. Instead, as if standing now on some rock or high crag, he laughs at all the waves. So the blessing is secure, and the praise is beyond reproach. It does not fear change; it does not suspect reversal.

We who are still living are like people tossed about in the middle of the open sea. We are subject to many changes. Just as they are now lifted high when the waves crest, and now carried down to the very depths—yet neither the height is secure nor the low point lasting, for both belong to waters that flow and do not stand still—so also in human affairs nothing is firm or fixed. Changes are frequent and swift. One person is lifted to the heights by prosperity; another is carried down to a great depth by misfortune. But let neither one be puffed up, nor the other be humbled. Each will receive change very quickly. But not that man who has departed to heaven, who has gone to the Jesus he longed for, who has come to a place pure of disturbances, where pain and grief and groaning have fled away. There is no image of change there, no shadow of turning. All things are fixed and immovable, all things secure and established, all things incorruptible and immortal, all things undefiled and enduring forever.

This is why he says, “Do not call anyone blessed before his death” (Ecclesiastes). Why? Because the future is uncertain, and human nature is weak. The will is sluggish, sin easily surrounds us, and the snares are many. “Know,” he says, “that you are passing through the midst of snares” (Ecclesiastes). Trials come one after another. The press of affairs is great. The war of the demons is unceasing. The uprisings of the passions are continuous. For these reasons, he says, “Do not call anyone blessed before his death.” So after death it is safe to call the worthy person blessed. Or rather, not simply after death, but after a death of such a kind—when someone has ended his life with a crown, when he has ended it with confession and unfeigned faith. For if someone called blessed those who simply died, how much more those who died in this way?

And who, you ask, called blessed those who simply died? Solomon—that all-wise Solomon. Do not pass over the man lightly. Consider who he was, how he had lived, and with what freedom and ease he lived that soft and effortless life.

2Every form of luxury came his way, and he devised all kinds of diversions. He discovered varied and manifold forms of enjoyment, and as he described them he said: “I built for myself houses, I planted for myself vineyards, I made for myself gardens and parks, I made for myself pools of water, I acquired male and female slaves, and home-born slaves became mine. I possessed herds and flocks. I gathered silver and gold equal to sand. I made for myself male and female singers, male and female cupbearers” (Ecclesiastes 2:4-8). What then did this same man say after such abundance of wealth, possessions, luxury, and ease? “I counted the dead blessed above the living,” he said, “and better than both is the one who has not yet come into being” (Ecclesiastes 4:2). Truly this man is a trustworthy accuser of luxury, since he passes such a judgment on it. If someone who had lived in poverty and want had brought this verdict against luxury, he would seem to accuse it not from truth but from inexperience. But when the man who explored all of it and searched out every one of its paths dishonors it, the accusation is beyond suspicion.

Perhaps you think our discourse has wandered from the present subject. But if we pay attention, we will find that what has been said is closely tied to it. For in commemorations of martyrs it is necessary and fitting to stir up words about the virtuous life as well. And we say these things not to accuse the present life—God forbid—but to discredit luxury. For living is not evil, but living carelessly and without purpose is.

If someone lives this present life with good deeds and the hope of the good things to come, he will be able to say with Paul, “To live in the flesh is far better; for this is the fruit of work” (Philippians 1:22). This is what happened with the blessed Eustathius, who used both his life and his death as he ought. For he endured this not on his own soil but on foreign soil, for Christ's sake. This was the achievement of his enemies. They drove him from his homeland as if to dishonor him, but he became more brilliant and more distinguished by his removal into exile, as the outcome of events proved. So great was his distinction that although his body was buried in Thrace, his memory blooms among us every day. The tomb is in that barbarian place, but the longing is here among us, separated by so great a distance, and after so much time it grows with each passing day. Or rather, to speak the truth, his tomb is also among us, not only in Thrace. For the memorials of the saints are not coffins, chests, pillars, and inscriptions, but achievements of deeds, zeal for the faith, and a conscience sound before God. This church has risen up as a monument to the martyr more brilliant than any pillar, bearing inscriptions that are not silent but proclaim his memory and his splendor through the very facts more loudly than a trumpet. And each one of you here present is that saint's tomb—a living and spiritual tomb. For if I unfold the conscience of each one of you here present, I find this holy man dwelling within your mind.

3Do you see how the enemies gained nothing? How they did not extinguish his glory, but lifted it up all the more and made it more brilliant, creating so many tombs in place of one—living tombs, tombs that send forth a voice, tombs that rouse others to the same zeal? This is why I call the bodies of the saints springs, roots, and spiritual perfumes. Why? Because each of these things does not keep its own virtue to itself alone, but sends it out over a great distance. Let me explain what I mean. Springs gush up with many streams, yet they do not hold them within their own basins; instead they give birth to long rivers and join with the sea, and as if by the stretching out of a hand, they take hold of the sea waters through their length. Again, the root of plants is hidden in the bosom of the earth, but it does not keep all its virtue down below—and this is especially the nature of climbing vines. For when they stretch out their branches upon tall reeds, the vine shoots creep through those canes and advance over a great distance, making a long roof by the density of their leaves. Such also is the nature of perfumes. They often lie in a small room, but their fragrance leaps out over the windows into streets, alleys, and marketplaces, and teaches those walking outside the virtue of the aromatics lying within. If a spring, a root, and the nature of plants and aromatics have such power, how much more do the bodies of the saints? And that what I say is true, you yourselves are witnesses. For the body of the martyr lies in Thrace, yet you, though not dwelling in Thrace but standing far from that land, take hold of the fragrance from such a distance, and for this reason you have gathered here. The length of the road did not hinder you, nor did the abundance of time extinguish it. Such is the nature of spiritual achievements: it is cut off by no bodily obstacle, but it blooms and grows each day, and neither the abundance of time withers it nor the length of the road walls it off. Do not be surprised that at the beginning of my discourse and praises I called the holy man a martyr. For he ended his life by his own end. How then is he a martyr? I have often said to your love that it is not death alone that makes a martyr, but also the intention. For the crown of martyrdom is often woven not only from the outcome, but also from the will. And it is not I who give this definition of martyrdom, but Paul, who says, “I die every day” (1 Corinthians 15:31). How do you die every day? How is it possible for one mortal body to receive ten thousand deaths? By the readiness, he says, and by being prepared for death. So also God declares. For Abraham did not stain the knife with blood, did not redden the altar, did not sacrifice Isaac, yet he completed the sacrifice. Who says this? The very one who received the sacrifice: “You have not spared your beloved son for my sake” (Genesis 22:16).

4And yet he received him alive and brought him down unharmed. How then did he not spare him? Because, he says, I judge such sacrifices not by the outcome of events but by the intention of those who chose beforehand. The hand did not slaughter, but the intention slaughtered. The sword did not stain the boy's throat, it did not cut his neck—yet it is a sacrifice even without blood. The initiated know what this means. And that sacrifice was made without blood precisely because it was going to be a type of this one. Do you see the image being sketched beforehand in the Old Testament? Do not doubt the reality.

This martyr, then—for our argument has shown him to be a martyr—prepared himself for countless deaths, and he endured them all in his judgment and eagerness. And of the dangers that were brought against him, he bore many through actual experience. For they drove him from his homeland and removed him into exile, and they stirred up many other things against that blessed man at that time, having no just charge to bring, but because he, having heard Paul say, "They worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator" (Romans 1:25), he fled the impiety and feared the transgression. But this deserves crowns, not accusation.

Consider with me the wickedness of the devil. Since the war against paganism had recently been brought to an end, and all the churches had just recovered from the harsh and successive persecutions, and not much time had passed since all the peoples had been shut out, the altars extinguished, and every frenzy of the demons destroyed—these things grieved the evil demon, and he could not calmly bear the peace of the church. So what does he do? He introduces another harsh war. The first was external, but this one was civil; and such wars are harder to guard against and easily overpower those who fall into them.

At that time, then, this blessed man was commanding the church among us, and the disease arose like a harsh plague from the regions of Egypt, and then, passing through the cities in between, it hastened to burst into our city. But he was wakeful and sober, and foreseeing all that was coming from afar, he beat back the approaching war. And like a wise physician, before the disease could burst into the city, sitting there he prepared the remedies and piloting this sacred ship with great safety, running everywhere, encouraging the sailors, the passengers, all who were sailing, preparing them to be sober and wakeful, since pirates were attacking and attempting to plunder the treasure of the faith.

Nor did he exercise this care only here, but he also sent out everywhere men who would teach, exhort, discuss, and wall off beforehand the enemy's assault. For he had been well instructed by the grace of the Spirit that the one who presides over a church must care not only for that church entrusted to him by the Spirit, but also for the whole church throughout the world. And this he learned from the sacred prayers. For if prayers must be made, he says, for the catholic church from one end of the world to the other, much more must care be shown for all of it, and one must care for all the churches alike and be anxious for them all.

5And what happened in Stephen’s case happened in his as well. Just as the Jews, unable to withstand Stephen’s wisdom, were stoning that holy man, so these men, unable to withstand his wisdom and seeing the strongholds secured, finally cast the herald out of the city. But the voice did not fall silent: the man was cast out, but the word of his teaching was not cast out. Paul was in chains, and the word of God was not in chains (2 Timothy 2:9); so too this man was in a foreign land, and his teaching remained among us. So they banded together and swept in like a violent torrent—but they neither swept away the plants nor buried the seeds nor harmed the cultivation, so well and skillfully had they been rooted by his wisdom. But it is worth saying why God permitted him to be driven away from here. The church had recently recovered its breath; his oversight was no small comfort to it. He was walling it around on every side and beating back the assaults of its enemies. Why then was he cast out, and why did God permit those who were taking him away? Why? Do not think that what I am about to say resolves only this difficulty; even if you are debating with pagans or with other heretics about such matters, what will be said is enough to resolve the whole difficulty. God allows his true and apostolic faith to be fought against in many ways, but he lets the heresies and paganism enjoy freedom from disturbance. Why is that? So that you may learn the weakness of the latter from the fact that they collapse on their own even when no one troubles them, and so that you may recognize the strength of the faith from the fact that it is fought against and yet grows through those who try to hinder it. And to show that this is not my own conjecture but a divine oracle sent from above, let us hear what Paul says about these things—for he too once suffered something human. Even if he was Paul, he still shared our nature. What was it he suffered? He was driven out, fought against, scourged, plotted against in countless ways—from outside, from inside, by those who seemed to be his own and by strangers. Why need I say how many afflictions he endured? So, growing weary and no longer bearing the assaults of enemies who were constantly cutting short his teaching and opposing his word, he falls before the Master and pleads with him, saying: “A thorn in the flesh was given to me, a messenger of Satan, to strike me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, and he said to me: ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness’” (2 Corinthians 12:7-9). I know that some think this weakness is bodily—but it is not, it is not. He calls the opposing human beings a messenger of Satan. For “Satan” is a Hebrew word, and “Satan” means “the one who opposes.” So he calls the instruments of the devil, the human beings who serve him, his messengers. Why then, he says, is it attached to the flesh? Because the flesh was being scourged, while the soul was being lifted up, raised high by hope in the things to come. For it did not touch the soul, nor did it trip up the reasoning within; the devices and the war stopped at the flesh, unable to pass inside.

6So because it was the flesh that was being cut, the flesh that was being scourged, the flesh that was being bound—for binding the soul was impossible—this is why he says, “A thorn in the flesh was given to me, a messenger of Satan, to strike me” (2 Corinthians 12:7), hinting at the trials, the afflictions, the persecutions. Then what? “Three times,” he says, “I entreated the Lord about this” (2 Corinthians 12:8)—that is, he says, I begged many times to catch my breath a little from the trials. But remember the reason I mentioned, that God permits his own servants to be scourged, driven out, and to suffer countless horrors in order to display his own power. For look: here too, when Paul prayed that the countless horrors and his opponents would leave him, he did not obtain his request—and he states the reason why he did not obtain it. What then is the reason? There is no harm in recalling it again: “My grace is sufficient for you,” he says, “for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).

Do you see that God permits the messengers of Satan to press upon his servants and to cause them endless trouble for this reason, so that his power might shine forth? Truly, whether we are debating with pagans or with the wretched Jews, this is enough for us as a proof of divine power: that the faith, brought in through countless wars, prevailed—that while the whole world opposed it, and while everyone with great violence pushed back against those twelve men, I mean the apostles, they were able in a short time, though scourged, driven out, and suffering countless horrors, to overcome those who did these things to them with complete supremacy. For these reasons God also allowed the blessed Eustathius to be carried away into exile, so that he might show us more fully both the power of the truth and the weakness of the heretics.

So when he was about to depart on his journey abroad, he left the city, but he did not leave his love for you. Nor did he consider himself a stranger to the church, to its leadership, and to his care for you just because he was being expelled. On the contrary, he cared and was concerned even more at that time. He called everyone together and urged them not to yield ground, not to give in to the wolves, not to betray the flock to them, but to remain inside, silencing and refuting them, and protecting the more innocent among the brothers. And the outcome showed that his command was good. For if you had not remained in the church at that time, the greater part of the city would have been destroyed, with the wolves devouring the sheep in the desolation. But his word prevented them from displaying their own wickedness with impunity.

And not only the outcome showed this, but also the words of Paul. For Paul too, having been instructed by him, gave this same counsel. What does Paul say? When he was about to be taken to Rome on his final journey abroad, after which he would no longer see his disciples—for he says, “I will see you no more” (Acts 20:25), and he said this not to grieve them but to make them secure—so when he was about to depart from there, he made them secure by speaking in this way: “I know that after my departure savage wolves will come in among you, and from among your own selves men will arise speaking twisted things” (Acts 20:29-30). The war is threefold: the nature of the beasts, the ferocity of the war, and the fact that the enemies are not outsiders but their own people. For this reason it is more dangerous—and rightly so.

7If someone attacks me from outside and makes war on me, I can easily overcome him. But if the wound grows from within the body itself, the evil becomes hard to fight—and that is exactly what happened then. That is why he also exhorted them, saying, “Keep watch over yourselves and over all the flock” (Acts 20:28). He did not say, “Abandon the sheep and flee outside.” The blessed Eustathius had been trained in these same things, and he exhorted his own disciples with them. When this wise and noble teacher heard these words, he fulfilled the saying in deed. So when those men came in, he did not abandon the sheep—even though he had not yet ascended the throne of office. But that meant nothing to that noble and virtuous soul. He left the honors of rulers to others, while he himself endured the labors of rulers, moving about in the midst of the wolves. The teeth of the beasts did him no harm, because his faith was stronger than their bites. Moving about within, then, and keeping all of them busy with the battle they waged against him, he secured great safety for the sheep. And he did not only do this by blocking their mouths and beating back their blasphemies; he also went around among the creatures themselves and examined them closely, in case any had received a dart, in case any had suffered a serious wound—and at once he applied the remedy. By doing this he leavened everyone into the true faith, and he did not withdraw until God prepared the blessed Meletius to come and take the whole lump. This man sowed; that man came and reaped. So it also happened with Moses and Aaron. For they too, moving about like leaven in the midst of the Egyptians, made many people zealous for their own piety. And Moses bears witness to this, saying that a great mixed crowd went up with the Israelites (Exodus 12:38). Imitating this Moses, Eustathius performed the works of office even before holding office. For Moses, before he had yet been entrusted with the leadership of the people, punished the wrongdoers with great vigor and courage, defended the wronged, and leaving behind the royal table, its honors and its seats of precedence, ran to the mud and the brickmaking, considering care for his own people more precious than all luxury, ease, and honor. Looking to him, Eustathius then urged all who were rulers to care for the people, and he placed labors before ease, taking upon himself unceasing hatred from every side each day. But everything was light for him, for the cause of what was happening gave him ample comfort in what he suffered. For all these things, then, let us give thanks to God and let us imitate the virtues of these saints, so that we may also share in their crowns, by the grace and love for humanity of our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom and with whom to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, honor, and might forever and ever. Amen.