All martyrs holy, but Phocas surpasses them

The 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.