John Chrysostom
"And they cast lots for them," because the Holy Spirit was not yet with them, "and the lot fell on Matthias, and he was numbered with the eleven Apostles." They did not yet consider themselves worthy to make the choice themselves. Therefore they wished to learn it through some sign.
Besides, if the lot had such great force where there was neither prayer nor worthy men, because it followed a just decision concerning Jonah, how much more here? Here the choir had to be completed, and the apostolic order restored.
The other man, Joseph, was not grieved because he was not chosen. Otherwise the Apostles would have said so, since they did not hide their own faults. Even concerning the chief Apostles themselves, they did not fail to note that they were sometimes displeased.
They noted this not once, but twice, and even more often. Let us also imitate them. My word is not yet addressed to all, but only to those who seek authority.
If you believe that the election is made by God, then do not be indignant. Otherwise you are displeased with Him and are angered against Him, because He chose. If, despite His election, you dare to be grieved, then you act like Cain.
He ought to have approved God's judgment. Yet because his brother's sacrifice was preferred, he was grieved. He became indignant when he should have been moved to compunction.
But this is not our subject. The point is that God knows how best to order affairs. It often happens that, for example, you are more modest in character, yet you do not correspond to the purpose.
Again, your life may be blameless and your character noble, but this alone is not what the Church needs. Besides, one man is fit for one thing, and another for another. Do you not see how much is said about this in Holy Scripture?
But I will say why this matter has become an object of ambition. The reason is that we seek it not as the duty of governing others and caring for the brethren, but as honor and an easy life.
If you knew that a bishop must belong to all and bear the burdens of all, you would not seek this authority. Others are forgiven when they are angry, but he never is. Others, if they sin, are readily excused, but he is not.
Then you would not pursue this rank or strive after it. The bishop is subject to every man's sentence and to the judgment of all, both wise and foolish. Every day and every night he is worn down by cares.
He has many ill-wishers and many who envy him. Do not speak to me of those who please everyone, who wish to sleep, and who approach this work as rest. I am not speaking of them.
I speak of those who watch over your souls, and who place the salvation of their subjects before their own. Tell me: if a man with ten children under his authority must constantly care for them, though they always live with him, what must one be like who has so many persons?
They are not subject to him, do not live with him, and dispose of themselves freely. But, you say, he enjoys honor. What honor? The very lowest beggars revile him in the marketplace.
Why then does he not make them be silent? Fine, but that is no longer the bishop's task. Again, if he does not give to everyone, both to those who are idle and to those who labor, a thousand reproaches come from every side.
No one fears to accuse and slander him. Men fear to condemn secular rulers, but not bishops, because the fear of God has no force in such people.
And what should one say about care for the word and teaching? Or about the difficulty of ordinations? Perhaps I am utterly weak, pitiable, and insignificant, or perhaps the matter truly stands as I say.
The soul of the priest differs in no way from a ship storm-tossed by waves. From every side it is wounded by friends, by enemies, by one's own, and by strangers.
Does not the king govern the inhabited world, while the bishop governs only one city? Yet the bishop's cares are greater to the same degree that a swelling, raging sea differs from river water moved only by wind.
Why is this so? Because there many assistants exist, and everything is done by law and decree. Here there is nothing of the kind, and one cannot command simply according to one's judgment.
If you act forcefully, you will be called harsh. If not forcefully, you will be called cold. Both must be joined together, so that one is neither despised nor hated.
Moreover, the very tasks here are especially difficult. How many people the bishop is forced to grieve, willingly or unwillingly! How many he must treat severely, whether he wishes it or not!
I say this exactly as I think and feel, and in no other way. I do not think there are many among priests who are saved. On the contrary, far more perish, precisely because this work requires a great soul.
A bishop has many needs that force him to go out of his house. He needs a thousand eyes on every side. Do you not see how much he must have?
He must be apt to teach, patient, holding firmly "the faithful word according to the teaching, that he may be able both to exhort in sound doctrine" (Tit 1:9). How difficult this is!
When others sin, the blame falls on him. Without speaking of anything else, I will say only this. If even one person departs this life without initiation into the mysteries, will this not overthrow his entire salvation?
The perdition of even one soul is a loss no word can express. If its salvation has such value that the Son of God became man for it and endured so much, consider what punishment its perdition will bring.
If the one through whom another perishes is worthy of death in the present life, much more will he be worthy there. Do not tell me that a presbyter or deacon sinned. The guilt of all these falls on the head of those who ordained them.
I will point to something else. Suppose one of the unworthy happens to be admitted into the clergy. Then a difficulty arises: what decision should be made concerning his former sins?
Here there are two abysses. He must not be left without punishment, and the others must not be scandalized. Should he therefore be deposed? But at present there is no occasion.
Or should he be left unpunished? Yes, you say, because the one who ordained him is guilty. What then? At least he should not be ordained further and raised to another rank.
But then it will be clear to all that he is some evil man, and scandal will again arise from this. Or should he be raised to a higher rank? But this is far worse.
Therefore, if all strove for the episcopate as for the duty of caring for others, no one would quickly dare to accept it. Instead, we chase after it exactly as after worldly offices.
In order to be in glory and attain honors among men, we perish before the eyes of God. And what profit is there in honor? How clearly it has been proved that it is nothing!
When you strongly desire the priesthood, set Gehenna before yourself. Set before yourself the account that must be given there. Set before yourself an easy life, and set before yourself the measure of punishment.
If you sin simply as a man, you will suffer nothing like this. But if you sin as a priest, you perish. Consider how much Moses endured, how much he practiced philosophy, and how much good he showed in himself.
Yet because he committed only one sin, he suffered strict punishment. And rightly so, because it was joined with harm to the others.
Thus he was punished with special strictness not only because his sin was public, but also because it was the sin of a priest. We are not subject to the same punishment for public sins and for hidden sins.
The sin is the same, but the harm from it is not the same. Or rather, the sin also is not the same, because it is not equal to sin secretly and unnoticed, and to sin openly.
A bishop cannot sin secretly. It is already good if he is free from reproach when he does not sin. There is no need to say what happens when he does sin.
If he becomes angry, or laughs, or wishes to refresh himself with sleep, many mockers appear. Many are scandalized. Many become lawgivers, and many remember former bishops and condemn the present one.
They do this not because they wish to praise those former men. No. They remember former bishops and presbyters only in order to wound this one.
War, they say, is pleasant to those who have not experienced it. It is fitting to say the same now. Or rather, we speak so while we have not yet entered the contest.
Once we enter it, we are not even known to the people. Now we no longer have a struggle with those who oppress the poor. We do not undertake the toil of fighting for our flock.
Rather, like those shepherds mentioned in Ezekiel (Ezek 34:2-3), we only slaughter and eat. Which of us shows such care for the flock of Christ as Jacob had for Laban's flocks?
Who can boast of anything equal to enduring the cold of the night? Do not compare all-night vigils with such great care. No, now everything is entirely different.
District governors and local rulers do not enjoy such great honor as the one who presides in the Church. If he enters the royal palace, who has first place? If he is among women or in noble houses, no one has greater honor before him.
Everything has perished. Everything has been corrupted. I say this not to shame you, but to restrain you from this passion. With what conscience will you stand if you sought this rank either by yourself or through someone else?
With what eyes will you look at the one who was your accomplice? What defense will you have? The man who accepted this rank unwillingly, under compulsion, and against his desire still has some defense.
Though forgiveness is mostly denied even to him, he still has some excuse. Consider what happened to Simon. What does it matter if you do not give silver, but instead of silver you flatter and use every kind of intrigue and craft?
"Your silver perish with you" (Acts 8:20), it was said to him. To these people also it will be said: May your ambition perish with you, because you thought to acquire the gift of God by human schemes.
But there are none like this? O, would that there were none! I do not at all wish my words to apply to you. Only the course of my discourse has now compelled me to speak of this.
When I speak against covetousness, my words likewise do not apply to you, nor even to any one of you. God grant that we prepare medicines in vain.
The wishes of physicians are exactly the same. They desire nothing other than that, after their considerable labor, the medicines may be thrown away unused.
We desire the same: that our words be spoken simply into the air, and remain only words. I am ready to endure everything, provided I am not forced to speak about this.
Yet, if you wish, we shall be silent. Only let our silence be without danger. I do not think that anyone, however vainglorious, would wish to speak without any need and only to display himself.
We will leave it to you to teach. Teaching by deeds is the more important teaching. The best physicians, although the illness of the sick brings them income, wish their friends to be healthy.
So I also want all of you to be healthy. I do not wish to be praised while you are condemned. I wish, if possible, to show by my very gaze the love that I bear for you.
Then no one would reproach me for anything, even if my word were too severe. What is said among friends is easily borne, even if there is something offensive in it.
For "faithful are the wounds of a friend, but deceitful are the kisses of an enemy" (Prov 27:6). Nothing is dearer to me than you, not even this light.
A thousand times I would wish to lose my own sight, if only your souls could be converted through this. So your salvation is dearer to me than light itself.
What profit do I have from the rays of the sun, when grief over you brings deep darkness upon my eyes? Light is good when it appears in a time of joy, but to a grieving soul it even seems burdensome.
May God never allow you to learn by experience that I am not lying. Yet if it should happen that one of you sins, come to me while I sleep.