John Chrysostom
"That you may be," he says, "blameless and pure," that is, faultless and pure, since murmuring lays no small stain upon the soul. What does "without questioning" mean? Whether it seems good to me or not?
Reason, he says, even if labor lies ahead, even if affliction, even if anything else. He did not say, "that you may not be punished," because punishment is assigned for an act. In the epistle to the Corinthians he also indicated this.
Here, however, he said nothing of the kind, but, "That you may be blameless and pure, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you shine as lights in the world, holding fast the word of life, to my boast in the day of Christ."
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Do you see that the Apostle teaches the Philippians not to murmur? Murmuring belongs to ungrateful and unfeeling servants. Tell me, what son murmurs while laboring for his father's benefit, and while laboring for himself?
Consider, he says, that you labor for yourself, that you gather treasure for yourself. Murmuring belongs to those who labor for others and work for others. But for one who gathers for himself, why murmur?
Is it because his wealth does not increase? That is no reason. Why should one murmur who labors voluntarily, without compulsion? It is better to do nothing than to do it with murmuring, because the work itself loses its value.
Do you not see that in our own households we always say this: it would have been better not to do it than to do it with murmuring? Often we decide that it is better to lose our servant's service than to endure a murmurer.
Murmuring is burdensome and unbearable. It is close to blasphemy. Otherwise, why were those murmurers so punished? Murmuring is ingratitude. The one who murmurs is ungrateful to God. And the one ungrateful to God is truly a blasphemer.
What is especially important is that at that time there were continual temptations and frequent dangers. There was no rest, no consolation, and thousands of troubles poured in from every side. But now there is deep peace, now tranquility.
Why, then, do you murmur? Because you are poor? Think of Job. Because you are sick? What, then, if you too were seized by sickness and at the same time conscious of so many perfections and virtues as that saint was?
Consider also that for a long time he was covered with worms, sat on the dunghill, and constantly scraped away the pus. "And his wife said to him," it is written, "Do you still hold fast your integrity? Curse God and die" (Job 2:9).
But has your son died? What if, like him, you had been deprived of all your children, and that by a cruel death? You know well that for parents there is much consolation in sitting beside the sick, closing the mouth, shutting the eyes, touching the cheeks, and hearing the last words.
But this righteous man was granted none of this. All his children were buried together. And why do I say this? If, like that blessed patriarch, you had been commanded to slaughter your own son, offer him in sacrifice, and see him burned, what would you have done?
And what was he like when he built the altar, laid the wood, and bound the child? Are some people reviling you? What would become of you if you heard this from friends who had come to console you?
Today we have many sins, and we are rightly reviled. But then one who was "blameless, righteous, God-fearing, and turned away from evil" (Job 1:1) heard the opposite from his friends.
Tell me, what if you had heard reproaches from your wife? "Let the stars of its dawn be darkened. Let it wait for light, and have none, and let it not see the eyelids of the morning" (Job 3:9).
Why do you say this, senseless woman? Is your husband the cause of this for you? Not he, but the devil. "Curse God," she says, "and die." Would it have been easier for you if your husband lying there had said this and died?
There is no sickness heavier than this, though you name thousands. Job's sickness was such that he could not even remain in a house or under a roof. It was such that everyone withdrew from him.
If he had not suffered incurably, he would not have sat outside the city, in a worse condition than lepers. They enter houses and gather with one another. But he spent his nights naked in the open air on the dunghill and could not even put on clothing.
Why? Probably because one disease would have been added to another. "My body," he says, "is clothed with worms and dusty scabs" (Job 7:5). His flesh produced pus and worms, and this without ceasing.
Do you see how each of us shudders when hearing this? If it is unbearable to hear this, was it bearable to see? And if it is unbearable to see, how much more to endure?
Yet the righteous man endured, and not for two or three days, but for a long time. He did not sin even with his lips. What sickness can you name that was joined to so many sufferings?
Was this not worse than blindness? "It makes my food loathsome," he says (Job 6:7). And not only this, but even night and sleep, which give rest to others, brought him no consolation. They were heavier than any torment.
Listen to what he says: Why "do You frighten me with dreams and terrify me with visions" (Job 7:14)? When morning comes, I say, when will evening come? And in such sufferings he did not murmur.
Nor did his grief consist only in them, but also in the evil opinion of many. At last they began to regard him as guilty of countless vices, for which he was suffering. Even his friends said to him, "You are punished less than your iniquities deserve" (Job 11:6).
Therefore he himself said, "But now they laugh at me, men younger than I, whose fathers I would have disdained to set with the dogs of my flock" (Job 30:1).
How many deaths is this not heavier than? Yet although he was storm-tossed from every side by such waves, and a terrible tempest rose everywhere, with clouds, storm, thunder, whirlpools, and winds, he remained unmoved amid these great and fearful waves.
He was as though in calm weather, and he did not murmur. This was before grace, before anything had been said of the Resurrection, or of Gehenna, punishment, and torment.
But we, hearing prophets, apostles, and evangelists, seeing countless examples, and having learned the teaching about the Resurrection, still grow indignant, though no one can say that so many calamities have overtaken him.
Indeed, if someone has lost property, he has not yet lost so many sons and daughters. And if he has lost them, perhaps it was for sins. But Job lost them suddenly, during sacrifice, during service to God.
Even if someone has lost both children and such wealth together, though this is impossible, he was not covered with wounds and did not scrape away pus. And if even this happened, he did not have attackers and revilers.
That usually wounds us more than anything, more than the misfortunes themselves. Indeed, if during troubles we grieve so much while having people who console, encourage, and awaken good hope in us, think what would happen if we had revilers instead.
If the saying, "I looked for compassion, but there was none, and for comforters, but I found none" (Ps 68:21), is heavy and unbearable, what is it like to find revilers instead of comforters?
"Miserable comforters are you all," Job says (Job 16:2). If we always had this before our eyes and meditated on it, no circumstance would distress us when we saw this athlete, this adamantine soul, this strong heart of bronze.
It was as though he had been clothed with a body of bronze or stone. He endured everything courageously and patiently. Reflecting on this, let us do everything without murmuring and questioning.
Do you do something good and murmur? Why? Are you under necessity? I know, Paul says, that many of your neighbors make it necessary for you to murmur. He hints at this when he says, "in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation."
But this is precisely what is wondrous: to be provoked and yet feel nothing of it. The stars shine at night, are seen in darkness, and lose none of their beauty. They appear even more radiant.
In the light they do not appear in the same way. So you also shine more when you remain upright among the corrupt. It is a wondrous thing to be blameless. And so that they would not say this, the Apostle himself said it beforehand.