SERMO 277
ON THE FEAST OF THE MARTYR VINCENT
(In which it is disputed concerning the spiritual body after the resurrection, and whether God can be seen by the eyes of such a body).
[DRESSED IN THE RESTORED BASILICA]
The invincible body of Vincent. The relics of the saints for the consolation of the faithful. The bodies of the saints given to the churches as remembrances of prayers, not for the glories of the martyrs.
We awaited the Martyr struggling with the eyes of faith, and we loved all invisibly beautiful. For what kind of beauty did the spirit have, whose corpse was also invincible? He confessed the Lord while alive: he overcame the enemy even in death. What do we think, brothers, that this honor and the providence and counsel of the almighty Creator carried even to the deceased body, provided something to the Martyr? Why? if he were not buried, did He not know where he would be resurrected from? To him, both the crown in victory and eternal life in the resurrection are preserved. But from his body, a memory of consolation was provided to the Church. Thus, often God grants from His servants to His servants with a certain dignity, giving what benefits more to him to whom it is given than to him from whom it is given. Thus, God fed the holy Elijah through a bird: but the mercy and omnipotence of God did not fail, so as always to feed him in this way. However, he was sent to be fed by a widow: not because there was no way for the servant of God to be fed, but so that the faithful widow might deserve a blessing. He granted, therefore, the bodies of the saints to His Churches as memorials of prayers, not to the glories of the martyrs. For they have their whole glory with their Creator. Nor do they fear anything for the body itself, for there is nothing to fear. More if they spare the body, they harm even the body. If, however, they do not spare the body through faith, they benefit even the body.
The martyr, by not sparing the body, benefits himself. Judgment, for eternal punishment.
Behold, listen to this, and question your faith. If Saint Vincent, out of fear of torments, denied Christ, it might seem that he spared his body: under a certain mortal condition, he would be released by the body. What would he do at the resurrection, when he would be cast into eternal fire? Denying Christ, he is denied by Christ. "Whoever denies me," he says, "before men, I will also deny him before my Father who is in heaven." Behold, he would deny, those torturers would rest, and with his soul wounded, his body would be healthy; or rather with the soul killed, the body would live: what use would a brief life of the body be to one eternally dead? The day would come, which the Lord recalls, when all who are in the graves will hear his voice, and will come out: but with a great difference. All will come out, but not all to the same purpose. All will rise, but not all will be changed. For those who have done good, he says, will rise to the resurrection of life; but those who have done evil, to the resurrection of judgment. When he says: "All who are in the graves," he undoubtedly manifests the resurrection of bodies. But when you hear of judgment, do not flatter yourself as if it were a temporal judgment; judgment is placed for eternal punishment. It is said according to this: "Whoever does not believe is already judged." This difference, therefore, will separate the just from the unjust, the faithful from the unfaithful, the confessors from the deniers, the lovers of perishable life from the lovers of eternal life; that difference will separate them. And the just will go into eternal life, but the impious into eternal fire. There they will be tormented with the body, who spared the body. For fearing bodily torments, they spared the body; and by sparing the body, they denied Christ; and by denying Christ, they have also reserved eternal punishments for the body. If they postponed them, did they take them away?
The martyrs did not despise the body, but took good care of it.
Therefore, the martyrs of Christ did not despise their own bodies prudently. It is a perverse and worldly philosophy of those who do not believe in the resurrection of the body. For they seem to themselves to be great despisers of the body, because they view the body as a prison in which they think souls are confined due to sins committed elsewhere. But our God created both body and spirit; He is the creator of both, and the recreator of both; the originator of both, and also the restorer of both. Therefore, the martyrs did not regard the flesh as an enemy, nor did they despise or persecute it. For no one ever hated his own flesh. Rather, they took care of it, even when they seemed to neglect it: when they steadfastly endured temporary torments in it, they secured eternal glory even for that flesh.
The glory of the body after the resurrection. The health of the body, the harmony of those things of which it consists.
But who can explain in words what the future glory of this flesh will be in the resurrection? None of us has yet experienced it. Now we bear burdensome flesh: because it is needy, because it is weak, because it is mortal, because it is corruptible. For the corruptible body weighs down the soul. But do not fear this in the resurrection. This corruptible body must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. What is now a burden will be an honor: what is now a load will then be a relief. For it will not have weight, so that you feel you have a body. Beloved, see: when our body is healthy, even this fragile and mortal one, when it is moderated by the temperance of its parts, when nothing in it contends against another; heat does not overcome and oppress the cold, the abundance of cold does not extinguish the fervor, and, while struggling, afflicts; dryness does not absorb moisture, nor does moisture inundate and oppress; but all the things which make it up are balanced by a harmonious joining, which is called health. Briefly put, the health of the body is the harmony of those parts which make it up. Therefore, this health, that is, the harmony of members and humors in a corruptible thing, in a needy and weak thing, in a thing that can still hunger and thirst, stand and tire, sit and be refreshed, again tire from sitting, weaken from hunger, refresh from eating; not aiding past exhaustions without beginning others: for whatever else you take for refreshment when weary, is the beginning of another weariness; because in the thing you took to help, if you persist, you will also tire: therefore, in this weak and corruptible body, what is this so-called health? For this health, which is called health in mortal and corruptible flesh, in no way can be compared to the health of Angels, whose equality is promised to us in the resurrection.
This health, however, as I said, however kind it is, what delight does it have, which is a desirable good for all? How great a thing does the poor man have, when he has this alone; how great a thing does the rich man not have, when he does not have this alone? Why does he boast of abundance? Fever does not fear a silver bed: it does not fear the pomp of a rich man, it does not fear the weapons of a warrior.
Health is to feel nothing, namely troublesome and burdensome.
What then is this health itself, which the martyrs rightly despised, because they hoped for another in the same flesh? However, because we have not yet experienced that one, from the one we know, let us conjecture about it somehow. What is health? If you say to me, "What is seeing?" as far as the body is concerned, I will perhaps respond to you, perceiving shapes and colors. If you say to me, "What is hearing?" I will respond, perceiving sounds. If you say, "What is smelling?" I will respond, perceiving odors. What is touching? Perceiving hard or soft, hot or cold, rough and smooth, heavy or light. What is health? Perceiving nothing. But even these very things in us now become insignificant in comparison to others. You see sharply: perhaps the eagle sees more sharply than you. You hear sharply: there are little beasts that hear more sharply. You smell sharply: you do not surpass the keen-scented dog. You judge tastes sharply by tasting them: there are animals that discern unfamiliar herbs and do not touch what is harmful. For, however sharply you discern food, you rashly rush into poison. You perceive sharply by touching: how many birds sense the coming summer and change their locations; they sense that winter is approaching, and migrate to warmer places? What you feel when it comes, they sense before it arrives. And this very thing which I praised in health, the stone, the tree, the corpse perceive nothing.
Dacian raging against the dead body. To live in the body, and to feel nothing of its burden, is to be healthy. The burden of the body always remains in this life.
For that governor Dacian in his heart felt nothing, when he raged against a senseless corpse? For what indeed was he doing now to one who felt nothing, who could also be overcome by one who felt? Yet he did whatever he could, and he did it angrily. But he who now felt nothing in public, was crowned in secret. For he held to the sentence of his Lord: who wished to make us secure about those who kill the body: "Do not," he says, "fear those who kill the body, and after that have nothing more they can do." How do they have nothing more they can do afterward, when that madman did so many things to Vincent's body? But what did he do to Vincent, who even feeling nothing, did nothing to him? Therefore, it is not that he did not feel like a stone, like a tree, like a corpse; but to live in the body and feel nothing of its burden, this is to be healthy. And yet, however healthy a man may be in this life, he also feels the weight of a healthy body. Even a healthy body, which is corrupted, that is, corruptible, weighs down the soul. It weighs down the soul, that is, it does not obey the soul at every command of the will. It obeys in many things: it moves the hands to work, the feet to walk, the tongue to speak, the eyes to see, and directs the hearing to perceive sounds: in all these things the body obeys. The desire to change place feels the burden, feels the weight: the body is not moved with such ease to reach where it desires. Someone desires to see a friend while established in the body, and knows him to be far away, with many dwellings between: the mind has already gone ahead, when the body arrives, it then feels what sort of burden it carries. The weight of the flesh could not obey the presumed speed of the will: it could not be snatched away with the speed it wished, as the mind carries it. It is slow and burdensome.
One must seek something in this body from which the swiftness of the future spiritual body is understood.
Do we think that the body itself has something from which the speed of the body can be proven? Shall we say the feet? What is slower? They themselves are the ones that make progress, and desires scarcely follow, and achievements reach through toiling. But let anyone be as swift as some animals, whose speed is not to be compared to ours; let anyone be as swift as birds: he does not reach his goal as quickly as he wished. Birds fly for a long time when migrating, and sometimes, weary, they perch on trees or ships. Therefore, even if we could fly like birds, we would still be slow due to our desire to reach our destination. But when the body becomes spiritual, as it is said: "It is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body"; how much ease, how much swiftness, how much obedience to the will shall there be? In nothing shall there be weight, in nothing need, in nothing fatigue, in nothing resistance and struggling from another part.
It must be said about the spiritual body on occasion.
What kind of body was it which the Lord carried through barriers? Consider, I entreat you, if by God’s help I may with whatever words fulfill your expectation or not fall far short. An occasion has arisen for us to discuss something about the spiritual body from the martyr's passion, from whom we saw and marveled at the body's disregard for torments. For we said that by not sparing the body, he was indeed taking care of it: lest by fleeing temporal pains and denying Christ, the same body should be destined for eternal and most atrocious punishments. Hence, desiring to exhort you and myself to despise present things and hope for the future: "For in this tabernacle we groan being burdened," and yet we do not wish to die, and we fear to be unclothed from the weight; "for we do not wish to be unclothed, but to be clothed upon, that mortality might be swallowed up by life." Therefore on this occasion I have undertaken to speak to you something about the spiritual body, and I first thought it proper to commend the very health of this frail and corruptible body, that from it we might find something great. We find in this very health that we feel nothing. For we have many things within in our intestines; who among us would know them unless he saw them in mangled bodies? Our vitals, our inner parts, which are called intestines, how do we know them? And it is good when we do not feel them. For when we do not feel them, we are healthy. You say to someone, "Take care of your stomach." He answers you, "What is a stomach?" Blessed ignorance: he does not know he has it, which he always has in good health. If he did not have it in good health, he would feel it: if he felt it, he would not know it to his advantage.
The speed of celestial bodies. The bodies of angels.
But although we come with praiseworthy bodily health to the swiftness of motion, we find ourselves somewhat leaden. How great is the speed of heavenly bodies? Do you wish to know how great it is? You observe the sun, and it seems to you as if it does not move, and yet it moves. Perhaps you say: It moves, but slowly. Do you wish to know at what speed it moves? Do you wish to reason out what you do not perceive by sight? If someone were to run a straight path from the east to the west of this earth with the fastest horses, in how many days would they arrive? With whatever speed of horses they would be carried, how many stops would they make? The distance of the journey from the beginning of the east to the end of the west, the sun, which seems to you to stand still, covers in one day, and in one night it returns to the east. I do not wish to say, because it is obscure and difficult to persuade, or perhaps uncertain, how much broader celestial spaces are than terrestrial ones. When, therefore, we see such great speed of heavenly bodies, which appear to us when observed to not move, to what speed can we compare the angelic body? They were also present, and whenever they willed, they presented themselves to be seen and touched. Abraham washed the feet of Angels. Not only did he wash those bodies, but he even handled them. They appeared, as they wanted, when they wanted, to whom they wanted. They feel no difficulty, no slowness at all. But we do not see them running, we do not see them moving from place to place, so that we may know them departing from the sight of men: whenever they wanted, they arrived. Therefore, there is no evident example of this speed for us to provide. Let us omit the unknown, and dare to presume nothing rashly about the untested.
The rays of the eye's speed.
In this very body, which we carry, I find something whose ineffable swiftness I marvel at. What is this? The ray of our eye, with which we touch whatever we see. For whatever you see, you touch with the ray of your eye. If you wish to see farther, and some object is interposed, the ray strikes the obstructing object and is not permitted to pass to what you desire to see; and you say to the one obstructing, "Move, you are blocking me." You want to see the column, a man stands in the middle, obstructing your vision. Your ray is emitted, but it reaches up to the man, and it is not allowed to reach the column. It runs into something else, it is not permitted. Behold, he who was obstructing you has moved away, and your vision reaches where it wants. Now examine, and if you can, find and answer whether this vision, this ray of your eye reaches the near object faster and the distant one slower. You saw a man standing nearby, you saw him with the same effort, you extended the ray of your eye to him with the same effort, you reached him with the ray of your eye with the same effort as you reached that column you wanted to see, and because the man was interposed, you could not: not sooner to him, and later to the column; and behold, he was nearby, and the column farther away. If you wished to walk, you would reach the man sooner than the column: because you wished to see, you reached the man as soon as the column. There is nothing about the column and the man. Cast your eyes further, you see a wall in the distance: cast them farther still, you reach the sun. How far is it between you and the sun? Who can measure those intervals? Who can estimate with any precision of thought how far the sun is from you? And yet as soon as you opened your eye, behold, you are here, your ray is there. As soon as you desired to see, by seeing you reached it. You did not seek machines to support yourself, not ladders to climb, not ropes to lift yourself, not wings to fly. Opening the eye is reaching.