Homily on Saint Phocas

1The whole catalog of the noble martyrs is holy and divine, rendering grace for suffering through suffering, and fulfilling the repayment of blood to the Savior of all through blood. Yet even among these, not all share one glory, nor have equal honors been allotted to all by one measure; rather, first and second place do not escape even the catalog of the saints. The reason, I think, is the judge's very exact and impartial assessment. For he oversees both the magnitude of punishments and the steadfastness of endurance, and as he weighs the contest he distributes rewards to the athletes according to their worth. And it is not at all surprising if justice is honored this way by God, since even among us generals and contest judges do not treat all who excel or all who compete alike, but vote gifts proportionate to the measure of each one's achievement.

I have gone through all this to show that the one who today gives us the occasion for this gathering is more distinguished than his companions and fellow contestants. For the others are not all known everywhere, nor do they have a celebrated courage; but Phocas there is no one who does not know. Just as the sun's ray is spread before all eyes, so too the fame of this martyr has sounded in every ear. For as soon as I enter his honored shrine and touch the sacred tomb of his body, I am filled from the place itself with the memory of all the stories told about him. I see the gardener in his occupation, the simplicity of his soul, his hospitality, the extraordinary man of the coast, the benefactor of the inland region, and I become a disciple of the martyr by learning to keep devotion even to the final dangers.

But come, if it seems good, I will set aside what is common and known to many and tell you, who love the martyrs, the extraordinary stories of the martyr. This holy man, the great blessing of Christians, was brought forth by neighboring Sinope, an ancient and well-known city, rich in noble and philosophical men. His occupation in life was the cultivation and care of a garden, which he owned somewhere before the gate of the city at the mouth of the isthmus and worked diligently, providing comfort for his own life and for those in need. He also opened his small and poor hearth to strangers very eagerly. Dwelling beside the highway, he set out what he had as common property for those passing through; he was a new Lot, not of the Sodomites, but of the Sinopeans.

As time went on, he found the commandment not without reward; for from his hospitality he gained the occasion for his life-giving death. Hear now, taking up the story briefly, from where and how it happened. When the word of our devotion was proclaimed and the wondrous preaching went out to every ear, making Christ known and the mysteries that come from him, the nations raged, according to the psalmist, and the kings and rulers gathered together (Psalm 2:1–2; cf. Acts 4:25–26). And the peoples of error were angry that Jesus had become king. Every Christian was sought as a criminal, and the one nearby was punished while the one far away was hunted down. Therefore not even the lowliness of his occupation or his gardening hid Phocas, but he too was denounced as a genuine initiate of Christ. And so those who had been ordered to end this wretched and fleeting life came against him.

2They were to lead him away unjudged, without defense. For the charge was reverence for God, a charge the one who committed it confessed with a clear voice; and when no one asked, he showed it by his deeds, but when someone inquired, he shouted it out with joy. So the executioners of his punishment—and the cause of our festival—came and lodged with the very man they were seeking, neither knowing him nor being known by him. For the time being they kept the reason for their visit secret, so that they might first learn from those outside the city who Phocas was and where he stayed, and then suddenly surround and seize him, as the Jews once did with Judas in the garden when they seized the Lord (cf. John 18:3). But they were unaware, holding the prey inside their nets: the dogs with the ram, the wolves with the lamb, and the kid rested with the leopards, and the lamb grazed with the wolves, and the lions shared their common life with the calf. And when, as usually happens, table and familiarity gave them confidence in one another, the martyr asked them who they were and for what reason they had come to his city. They, out of respect for the man's eager welcome and hospitality, and after instructing him to tell no one what would be said, made known to him the secret and disclosed the plot of their scheme—that they were seeking Phocas to take him for punishment. Therefore, in addition to his hospitality, they asked him to grant them this favor as well: to labor with them in the hunt for the man they sought. The servant of the Lord heard this and received the word with an untroubled soul. He suffered nothing low or ignoble, nor did he say anything of the sort; nor did he shrink from the danger and look to flight, even though he had great freedom to do so, since it was not yet clear that he himself was the one they were seeking. But he did exactly the opposite, choosing rather to act with courage and not to flee. And indeed he nodded to their request. "I too," he says, "will join you in the task before us. For I know the man and will easily search him out and find him. I will show him to you not after a long time, but on the next day. Only rest here in my poor lodging." Having thus given them a firm promise, he divided himself between two tasks: welcoming his own murderers and preparing his tomb. When he had made ready the grave and the things necessary for burial, he came to them on the next day and said, "I have searched diligently for Phocas for you, and the prey is now ready. And if it seems good, let him be seized." When they said with joy, "And where is the man?" he said, "Not far off, but with you. I myself am he. Do what you will with the matter and fulfill the purpose of your journey and labor."

3The men were struck in their souls and froze at what they heard, reverencing the salt and the table and the host who showed such generosity in poverty. But he kept urging them to dare the killing and commanded them not to hesitate even a little, saying that the murder was not the work of their hands but the undertaking of those who had given the orders. He spoke, he persuaded, he suffered, and when his head was cut off he was offered as a sacrifice pleasing to God. From that time until now, we have him as a pillar and support of the divine churches throughout the world, and among the best of the martyrs he is the most illustrious, holding first place himself. He draws all people in a body to his lodging, and the highways are full of those hurrying from every country to the place of prayer. That magnificent church, which was allotted to hold the martyr's sacred body, is relief for the oppressed, a hospital for the afflicted, a table for the hungry. For Phocas now that he has died feeds more generously than Joseph did long ago while living in Egypt. Joseph exchanged grain for silver, but Phocas gives freely to those in need. So tribes of the poor and wandering run to the isthmus of Sinope as to a common storehouse. That is how it is there. And if somewhere else the martyr has established for himself through small relics a kind of colony of the mother city, that place too is wondrous and eagerly sought by all Christians, just as this sacred place among us is a lodging for those who celebrate. Precious before the Lord is the death of his holy ones (Psalm 116:15), and though the relics have been divided in many places, they preserve the martyr's complete renown everywhere. So too in the imperial city, the crown of Italy and queen of the world, the martyr has a public bodyguard and honor, and a splendid house adorned for beauty. The Romans honor Phocas no less than Peter and Paul. Therefore, as the account teaches, they eagerly acquired the martyr's head, choosing a judgment opposite to that of the abominable Herodias. She thirsted for righteous blood and demanded a precious head for insult, but they, for the sake of honor and their own benefit, worthily secured a martyr's head. Sailors and seafarers everywhere—not only those who cross the Black Sea, but also those who cut through the Adriatic Sea and are carried over the Aegean Sea, and all who sail the Atlantic Ocean and make their way among the eastern gulfs—have turned the customary chants with which they ease the labor of the voyage into a new praise of the martyr. Phocas is always on their lips in song, since he also gives clear signs of his help. For he has often been seen, now at night when a storm was expected, waking the helmsman who had nodded off at the rudder; at other times stretching the ropes and tending the sail and watching from the prow for the reefs.

4From this a custom arose among sailors: to have Phocas as their table-companion. And since it is impossible for him, now bodiless, to share their food and table, learn how God-loving reasoning found a way around the impossibility. Each day they allot by lot to the martyr a portion of the food, equal to the share of those who eat. One of the banqueters buys up that portion and deposits the money; the next day another does so, and at another time yet another. And this lot of purchase goes around among them all, giving each day a buyer for the portion. When a harbor receives them and they come to land, the money is divided among the hungry. This is Phocas's portion: a benefit to the poor.

Kings too have marveled at this most steadfast and God-loving man, and they adorn the church of this celebrated poor man with costly treasures. Those who come after strive to surpass their elders. And it is no wonder if men of the Roman empire, who love God and have been raised with its laws and customs, show such reverence for the servant of Christ, when the wonder has reached even barbarians. All the most savage Scythians—those who inhabit the mainland across the Black Sea, neighbors of the Sea of Azov and the Don River, and those who dwell along the Bosporus and stretch as far as the Phasis River—all these serve as bodyguards to the gardener. Though they differ from us in every custom and way of life, in this alone they become of one mind with us, their wildness of character tamed by the truth.

One ruler and king from that region, for example, took off the crown from his head, gleaming with gold and flowers of precious stones, and stripped off his war breastplate, which had materials of wealth—for boastful and delicate is the full armor of barbarians—and sent both as offerings through the martyr to God, consecrating the sources of his power and dignity. For it is clear that the crown was a thank-offering for his kingship, and the breastplate for his strength in wars.

As for the benefits that continually follow upon these—through visions in dreams and through the healings that the sick enjoy—how could anyone describe them, when it is impossible to apply words to each individual working? We, then, ending here, will offer glory to God the Savior, whose faithful servants were counted worthy of such grace that they benefit their fellow servants in every need and circumstance according to the gift given them. And this after their departure from here and the separation of the body. Their memory, together with their work, runs daily through cities and villages, everywhere proclaiming the benefactor Lord, to whom belongs all honor and power, greatness and majesty, now and always, and to the ages of ages. Amen.