Third Sunday of Matthew

Julian was born at Diocaesarea in the province of Cilicia, the son of a pagan senator and a devout Christian mother. After his father’s death, his mother brought him to Tarsus, where he was baptized and raised in the fear of God. The piety planted in him as a boy proved unshakeable when, at eighteen years of age, the persecution of Diocletian fell upon the Church and an imperial decree commanded all to sacrifice to the idols on pain of torture.

Among those seized was the young Julian. Neither tortures nor threats, neither the promise of gifts nor the offer of worldly honors, could move him to deny Christ. For an entire year the magistrates dragged him from city to city across Cilicia, subjecting him at every stop to fresh interrogation and torment, hoping to break a will that only grew firmer. When the deputy sent for the martyr’s mother, expecting her to plead with her son to relent, she instead spent three days with him in prison teaching him the very opposite—not to lose heart, but with thanksgiving and courage to go to his death.

At last the saint was sewn into a sack filled with sand and poisonous serpents and cast into the sea. The waves bore his body to the shores of Alexandria, and his relics were later translated to Antioch. There Saint John Chrysostom—whose voice fills much of the patristic commentary in this very brief—honored the martyr with a homily of praise. Fragments of his relics rest today on Mount Athos.

Julian’s life reads as a living commentary on this Sunday’s Gospel. Here is a young man who could not “serve two masters,” who refused to clutch at the safety, food, and freedom the world offered in exchange for his soul, and who instead “sought first the kingdom of God.” His mother, who counseled her own son toward martyrdom rather than apostasy, embodies the unworried trust the Lord commands: she had laid up her treasure where neither moth nor rust could reach it.

Terentios (also rendered Tertius) is numbered among the Seventy Apostles. He is remembered in Scripture as the scribe to whom the Apostle Paul dictated the Epistle to the Romans, for at the close of that letter he sends his own greeting: “I, Tertius, who wrote this epistle, greet you in the Lord” (Romans 16:22). The letter was set down in Corinth in the winter of 57 or 58—the longest and most theologically weighty of Paul’s epistles, and the very source of this Sunday’s reading on justification by faith.

Succeeding Saint Sosipater as the second bishop of Iconium, Terentios labored to turn the pagans of that city to Christ and converted many. He sealed his episcopal ministry with the blood of martyrdom. There is a fitting providence in his being commemorated on a Sunday whose Epistle his own hand committed to parchment: the deacon or priest who reads Romans 5 this day reads words that passed first through the pen of the saint standing beside him in the calendar.

Nikitas was born in 1716 in the town of Mandraki on the Aegean island of Nisyros, the son of one of the town’s leading men. While he was still a boy, his father, arrested and tried by the Muslim authorities and fearing execution, sought to save his life by embracing Islam together with his whole household. The young child, far too small to grasp what was being done to his soul, was given the Turkish name Mehmed. The Christians of Nisyros recoiled from the family that had denied Christ, and they were forced to remove to Rhodes.

In Rhodes the boy at length learned that he had once been a Christian named Nikitas. The knowledge would not let him rest. At fourteen he made his way to the Nea Moni of Chios, confessed his condition to the abbot, and was guided to the former bishop Makarios, who anointed him with Holy Chrism and restored him to the Church. Seven years a secret Christian, Nikitas at last could not, and would not, pay the head-tax demanded of him at Chios; he was led to the prison at Vounaki. There he confessed Christ with boldness, withstood ten days of terrible torture and every threat to return to Islam, and would not yield.

At seventeen years of age Nikitas was beheaded on June 21, 1732, and received the crown of martyrdom. His relics rest in the church bearing his name on Nisyros, and his head is treasured at Iveron Monastery on Mount Athos. Like Julian fourteen centuries before him, this boy-martyr is a witness against the divided heart: offered his life and safety at the price of his Lord, he chose the kingdom of God, and counted all else as that which “shall be added.”

• “If you fill your mind with worries over money, you have extinguished the lamp and darkened your soul.”—Theophylact of Ochrid
• “For what the mind is to the soul, the eye is to the body.”—John Chrysostom
• “To have mammon for your master is already worse itself than any later punishment.”—John Chrysostom
• “His love of money drives him away from God.”—Theophylact of Ochrid
• “He mentions the birds in order to shame us, for we are even more witless than these creatures.”—Theophylact of Ochrid
• “We were not born for this end, that we should eat and drink and be clothed, but that we might please God.”—John Chrysostom
• “He said not, God knows, but, your Father knows; to lead them to a greater hope.”—John Chrysostom
• “The kingdom of God is the enjoyment of all that is good. This comes through righteousness.”—Theophylact of Ochrid
• “It is not our diligence, but the providence of God, even where we seem to be active, that effects all.”—John Chrysostom
• “He does not forbid us to eat, but to say, ‘What shall we eat?’”—Theophylact of Ochrid

”The lamp of the body is the eye. If therefore your eye is good, your whole body will be full of light.”

Gregory the Wonderworker (+270) The single eye is love unfeigned; for when the body is enlightened by it, it sets forth through the medium of the outer members only things which are perfectly correspondent with the inner thoughts. But the evil eye is the pretended love, which is also called hypocrisy, by which the whole body of the man is made darkness. Such are they who wash only the outside of the cup and platter, and do not understand that, unless the inside is cleansed, the outside itself cannot be made pure.

John Chrysostom (+407) Forasmuch as He had spoken of the mind as enslaved and brought into captivity, and there were not many who could easily discern this, He transfers the lesson to things outward and lying before men’s eyes. If you know not what a thing it is to be injured in mind, learn it from the things of the body; for just what the eye is to the body, the same is the mind to the soul. As when the eyes are blinded, most of the energy of the other members is gone, their light being quenched; so also when the mind is depraved, your life will be filled with countless evils.

Theophylact of Ochrid (+1107) This means, if you fill your mind with worries over money, you have extinguished the lamp and darkened your soul. Just as the eye that is sound, or “healthy,” brings light to the body, and the eye that is evil, or “diseased,” brings darkness, so also does the state of the mind affect the soul. If the mind is blinded by these worries, it is cast into darkness; then the soul becomes dark, and how much more so the body as well?

”But if your eye is bad, your whole body will be full of darkness. If therefore the light that is in you is darkness, how great is that darkness!”

John Chrysostom (+407) He whose heart is turned to God has an eye full of light; that is, his understanding is pure, not distorted by the influence of worldly lusts. Whoso then has a pure eye—that is, a spiritual understanding—preserves his body in light, that is, without sin; for though the flesh desires evil, yet by the might of divine fear the soul resists it. As he who destroys the spring may also dry up the river, so he who has quenched the understanding may have confounded all his actions in this life.

Theophylact of Ochrid (+1107) This means, if you fill your mind with worries over money, you have extinguished the lamp and darkened your soul. For just as the eye that is “sound” or “healthy” brings light to the body, and the eye that is “evil” or “diseased” brings darkness, so also does the state of the mind affect the soul.

”No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or else he will be loyal to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon.”

John Chrysostom (+407) Jesus calls mammon here “a master,” not because of its own nature but on account of the wretchedness of those who bow themselves beneath it. To have mammon for your master is already worse in itself than any later punishment, and enough retribution before the punishment for anyone trapped in it. For what condemned criminals can be so wretched as those who, once having God for their Lord, desert from that mild rule to this grievous obsession for money? He mentions two masters, that we may see that change for the better is easy.

Theophylact of Ochrid (+1107) No man can serve two lords who command things that are opposed to each other. Such lords are God and mammon. We make the devil our lord when we make the belly our god. But by nature and in truth God is the Lord, and mammon is unrighteousness. Do you see that it is not possible for a rich and unrighteous man to serve God? His love of money drives him away from God.

”Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing?”

John Chrysostom (+407) He did not simply say, “Do not be anxious for your life,” but he added the reason: after having said, “You cannot serve God and mammon,” he added, “Therefore I say to you, do not worry.” Why “therefore”? Because of the unspeakable loss. For the hurt you receive is not in riches only; rather, the wound is in the most vital parts, in the subversion of your salvation, casting you away from the God who made you, cares for you, and loves you.

Theophylact of Ochrid (+1107) The soul does not eat, for it is bodiless, but Jesus said this according to the common use of the word. Jesus does not forbid us to work, but rather He forbids us to give ourselves over entirely to our cares and to neglect God. Hence we must work for our livelihood while not neglecting the soul. Will not He Who gave what is greater—life itself—and fashioned the body, will He not also give food and clothing?

”Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?”

John Chrysostom (+407) Lest any should say, “We do good by taking thought,” He dissuades them both by that which is greater and by that which is less; by the greater, the soul and the body; by the less, the birds. For if of the things that are very inferior He has so much regard, how shall He not give unto you? God created all animals for man, but man for Himself; therefore by how much the more precious is the creation of man, so much the greater is God’s care for him.

Theophylact of Ochrid (+1107) Although He could have given the example of Elijah and John the Baptist, instead He mentions the birds in order to shame us, for we are even more witless than these creatures. God feeds them by having given them the instinctive knowledge for finding food.

”Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature?”

John Chrysostom (+407) Do you see how by that which is evident, He has manifested that also which is obscure? As unto your body you will not by taking thought be able to add, though it be ever so little; so neither to gather food, think as you may. Hence it is clear that not our diligence, but the providence of God, even where we seem to be active, effects all. So that, were He to forsake us, no care, nor anxiety, nor toil will ever appear to come to anything.

Theophylact of Ochrid (+1107) This means, even if you take the utmost care, you can do nothing if God does not will it. Why then do you drive yourself to exhaustion with futile worries?

”So why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin.”

John Chrysostom (+407) Having spoken of our necessary food, and having signified that not even for this should we take thought, He passes on to that which is more easy, for raiment is not so necessary as food. He would point out how far the argument may be carried both ways: from the vileness of the things that partake of such elegance, and from the munificence vouchsafed to the lilies in their adorning. For this cause, when He has decked them out, He does not so much as call them lilies any more, but grass of the field.

Theophylact of Ochrid (+1107) He shames us not only by the birds, which lack reason, but also by the lilies, that wither. If God adorned the lilies in such a manner, without any necessity to do so, how much more will He fulfill our own need for clothing? Even Solomon, the most wise and splendid, with all his kingdom at his disposal, could not array himself in such a manner.

”Now if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?”

John Chrysostom (+407) When He had demonstrated the greatness of God’s providential care, and they were in what follows to be rebuked also, even in this He was sparing, laying to their charge not want, but poverty, of faith. And yet surely all these things He Himself works, for all things were made by Him. But He nowhere as yet makes mention of Himself, it being sufficient for the time to indicate His full power.

Theophylact of Ochrid (+1107) We learn from this that we ought not to be concerned with beautifying ourselves, for our adornments wither like the fading flowers. But you, He says, are creatures endowed with reason, whom God fashioned with both soul and body. Those “of little faith” are all those who concern themselves with such thoughts. For if they had perfect faith in God, they would not give such anxious thoughts to these things.

”For after all these things the Gentiles seek. For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things.”

John Chrysostom (+407) Having reproved and roused them, by another argument He also comforts them: “For your heavenly Father knows that you have need of all these things.” He said not, “God knows,” but “your Father knows,” to lead them to a greater hope. For if He be a Father, and such a Father, He will not surely be able to overlook His children in extremity of evils, seeing that not even men, being fathers, bear to do so.

Theophylact of Ochrid (+1107) He does not forbid us to eat, but to say, “What shall we eat?” The rich say in the evening, “What shall we eat tomorrow?” See that it is luxury and excess that He forbids.

”But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you.”

John Chrysostom (+407) When He had set the soul free from anxiety, then He made mention also of Heaven; for indeed He came to do away with the old things, and to call us to a greater country. He mentioned the heathen, who have no regard for the things to come, nor any thought of Heaven. But to you not these present things are chief. For we were not born for this end, that we should eat and drink and be clothed, but that we might please God, and attain unto the good things to come. As things here are secondary in our labor, so also in our prayers let them be secondary.

Theophylact of Ochrid (+1107) The kingdom of God is the enjoyment of all that is good. This comes through righteousness. To him who seeks after spiritual things, God in His generosity adds that which is needed for physical life.

Source: Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew, Homilies XX–XXII Chrysostom devotes three full homilies to this stretch of the Sermon on the Mount. His governing pastoral method is to press the hearer “by both kinds—both by the profitable and by the hurtful—much like an excellent physician, pointing out both the disease which is the consequence of neglect, and the good health which results from obedience.” He treats covetousness not as a mere moral failing but as a form of self-enslavement that “turns us away from God’s service,” and he insists that the command not to be anxious is not impossible: “there are many who duly perform them, even as it is.”

Source: The Explanation of the Holy Gospel According to Saint Matthew Theophylact compresses the Chrysostomic tradition into pointed, preachable sentences well suited to a homily. His repeated emphasis is that worry itself is the act of a divided and “little” faith, and that the Lord forbids not labor but anxious self-reliance: “Jesus does not forbid us to work, but rather He forbids us to give ourselves over entirely to our cares and to neglect God.”

Source: Catena fragment on Matthew 6:22 Gregory reads the “single eye” as “love unfeigned” and the “evil eye” as hypocrisy—the pretended love that produces fair words while harboring works fit for darkness. His reading ties this Sunday’s Gospel directly to the integrity of the inner life: the wholeness of the body depends on the singleness of the intention that governs it.

The passage opens not with money but with vision: “The lamp of the body is the eye.” The Fathers are nearly unanimous that the “eye” here is the inner intention, the governing aim of the soul. Chrysostom makes the analogy exact—“what the mind is to the soul, the eye is to the body”—and Gregory the Wonderworker names the sound eye “love unfeigned.” The whole moral life, then, is downstream of a single question: where is the heart fixed? A divided gaze fills the whole body with darkness, and that darkness is the more terrible because it disguises itself as light: “If the light that is in you is darkness, how great is that darkness!”

This theme binds the Gospel to its commemorated saints. Julian of Tarsus, Terentios of Iconium, and the boy-martyr Nikitas each faced the precise moment the Gospel describes—the demand to serve two masters—and each kept the eye single, even unto death.

The Lord does not say it is difficult to serve both God and wealth; He says it is impossible. Theophylact sharpens the point: the two “command things that are opposed to each other.” Chrysostom’s insight is that mammon’s mastery is itself the punishment—“to have mammon for your master is already worse in itself than any later punishment.” The tragedy is not chiefly that the covetous will be judged, but that even now they have “deserted from that mild rule to this grievous obsession,” exchanging a Father for a tyrant. The freedom the Gospel offers is the freedom of a single allegiance.

The Fathers are careful guardians against a lazy misreading. Chrysostom and Theophylact both insist that the Lord forbids anxiety, not work; the condemnation falls on the divided, fearful, self-reliant heart, not on the diligent hand. “We must work for our livelihood while not neglecting the soul” (Theophylact). The argument from the birds and the lilies is an argument from the lesser to the greater: if the providence that clothes the perishing grass is so lavish, how much more will the Father provide for His reasoning children? The rebuke, when it comes, is gentle—“O you of little faith”—charging not want but smallness of trust.

The passage climaxes in a word about God’s character and a command about the ordering of our loves. Chrysostom lingers on the Lord’s choice of words: “He said not, ‘God knows,’ but ‘your Father knows,’ to lead them to a greater hope.” The remedy for anxiety is not a technique but a relationship—the knowledge that the One who governs all things is a Father who already knows our need. From this flows the great summons of verse 33: “Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness.” Theophylact’s gloss is the whole spiritual life in a sentence: “To him who seeks after spiritual things, God in His generosity adds that which is needed for physical life.” First things first; everything else is “added.”

”When Thou didst descend unto death, O Life Immortal, then didst Thou slay Hades with the lightning of Thy Divinity. And when Thou didst also raise the dead out of the nethermost depths, all the hosts of the heavens cried out: O Life-giver, Christ our God, glory be to Thee.”

The Sunday resurrectional hymn frames the whole Liturgy: the God who tramples death and raises the dead is the same Father whose providence the Gospel commends to our trust. The One who gives life itself will surely give “all these things.”

”Thy martyr, O Lord, in his courageous contest for Thee received the prize of the crowns of incorruption and life from Thee, our immortal God. For since he possessed Thy strength, he cast down the tyrants and wholly destroyed the demons’ strengthless presumption. O Christ God, by his prayers save our souls, since Thou art merciful.”

The common apolytikion for a holy martyr is sung for Saint Julian, whose year-long endurance under torture is the Gospel’s “single eye” made flesh—a body kept “full of light” because the inner aim never wavered.

”O protection of Christians that cannot be put to shame, O mediation unto the Creator unfailing: disdain not the suppliant voices of sinners, but be thou quick, O good one, to help us who in faith cry unto thee. Hasten to intercession, and speed thou to make supplication, thou who dost ever protect, O Theotokos, them that honor thee.”

This is the seasonal kontakion appointed at the Divine Liturgy on the ordinary Sundays after Pentecost. Its appeal to the unfailing intercession of the Mother of God answers the Gospel’s call to unanxious trust: the Christian who “seeks first the kingdom” does not stand alone but under a protection that “cannot be put to shame.”