9th Sunday of Matthew

The chief commemoration of this day is not a martyrdom but a translation—the solemn moving of the relics of Saint Stephen, the first martyr of the Church, from Jerusalem to Constantinople. Stephen himself, one of the seven deacons chosen by the apostles (Acts 6), was “full of faith and power” and “did great wonders and signs among the people.” Seized by the Sanhedrin and charged with blasphemy, he answered his accusers with the long witness recorded in Acts 7, and, gazing into heaven, beheld “the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God.” For this confession he was cast out of the city and stoned, praying for his murderers as he died: “Lord, do not charge them with this sin.” He is rightly called the Protomartyr, the first-fruits of that great harvest of witnesses whose blood became the seed of the Church.

The relics of the Protomartyr lay hidden for nearly four centuries. In the year 415 they were uncovered in a miraculous manner near Jerusalem and translated with great solemnity to the holy city by Bishop John, together with the bishops Eutonius of Sebaste and Eleutherius of Jericho; from that time healings flowed abundantly from them. Afterward, during the reign of the pious Emperor Theodosius the Younger, the relics were carried from Jerusalem to Constantinople and placed in the church of the holy deacon Laurence. When at last a church dedicated to the Protomartyr himself was completed in the imperial city, his relics were translated into it—and it is this translation that the Church keeps on the second of August.

There is a fittingness in the Church’s honoring of a saint’s bones, and Stephen’s translation teaches it plainly. The same body that was broken by stones outside the walls of Jerusalem became, in the providence of God, a fountain of grace and healing for the faithful. The martyr who saw the heavens opened does not vanish from the Church at his death; his very relics remain a pledge of the resurrection and a place where heaven and earth still meet. Saint Stephen’s right hand is preserved to this day in the Trinity-Sergius Lavra.

Theodore was born in the village of Renkioi, near the ancient Ophryneion along the Dardanelles, to pious parents named George and Kyriaki. As a young man he settled in the city of Chanak (Canakkale), where he earned his bread in the pressing of sesame oil. In a season when many Christians of Asia Minor were pressured to deny Christ and embrace Islam, Theodore held fast to the faith of his fathers. Condemned on the second of August, 1690, and led out to the quarter of the foreign diplomats, he refused even to cover his face, saying, “With my will I surrender to death for Christ,” and was beheaded in the presence of the French ambassador. After three days his body was given to the Christians, who buried him with honor in the courtyard of a church. In 1922, during the exchange of populations, his skull was carried to Greece and enshrined in the Church of Saint Xene in Nicaea of Piraeus, where he is venerated to this day.

The Church remembers on this day the Martyr Phocas, whose memory is bound up with the beloved figure of Saint Phocas the Gardener of Sinope. A man of simple life on the southern coast of the Black Sea, Phocas gave the fruit of his garden and the shelter of his house to the poor and the stranger alike. When soldiers came seeking his life, he received them without their knowing him, fed them at his own table, and by night dug his own grave among his plants; in the morning he revealed himself as the very man they sought and bowed his head for Christ. His hospitality even to his executioners has made him a pattern of Christian love that does not count the cost—a love that receives the stranger as it would receive the Lord.

Among the saints of the ancient West honored by the Orthodox Church is Plegmund, a Mercian by birth, remembered in tradition as a hermit at Plemstall in Cheshire before his learning drew him to the court of King Alfred the Great. Alfred, laboring to rebuild the Christian and scholarly life of an England ravaged by the Viking invasions, nominated him to the See of Canterbury in the year 890. As archbishop, Plegmund worked to restore the faith where it had been weakened, reorganized the dioceses of Wessex, and lent his hand to the translation of sacred writings for a people who had nearly lost their letters. He fell asleep in peace in 914 and is venerated on the second of August. His life is a quiet witness that the labor of teaching, translating, and rebuilding the Church is itself a holy calling.

Known and loved throughout Cyprus as Saint Photou, this holy woman was born of pious parents in Rizokarpaso and distinguished herself from her youth by kindness and virtue. She withdrew to a cave in the Karpas peninsula and there lived the ascetic life, and to that cave came many seeking consolation and counsel. By the grace of the Holy Spirit she worked healings even while she yet lived. Her relics were discovered in the eighteenth century bearing the carved inscription, “Photini, Virgin Bride of Christ,” and continue to give healing to the sick. To this day the faithful of the Karpas keep her feast with great devotion.

Basil the Blessed, born near Moscow in 1468 to common folk and apprenticed as a young man to a cobbler, forsook every earthly comfort at the age of sixteen to take up the hardest of ascetic labors: folly for Christ’s sake. Barefoot through the burning summers and the pitiless Russian winters, half-clothed and homeless, he wandered the streets of Moscow bearing insult and blows with joy, thanking God even for the beatings. Beneath the appearance of madness lay a soul granted rare gifts of discernment and wonderworking; through his prayers before the Vladimir Icon of the Mother of God the city was delivered from the invasion of the Crimean khan in 1521.

His strange deeds were parables. He would overturn the trays of dishonest merchants and dash to pieces goods gained by fraud; he was known to cast stones at the houses of the righteous and to kiss the walls of houses where sin was committed, for he saw the angels weeping outside the one and the demons driven from the other. Alone among men he dared to rebuke Tsar Ivan the Terrible to his face for the shedding of innocent blood, and the dread sovereign, who feared no one, feared and revered the naked fool. Basil reposed in 1552, and the great cathedral on Red Square that bears his name remains his shrine and Russia’s most famous church.

His folly stands as a living commentary on this Sunday’s Epistle, in which the Apostle warns that the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God. Basil chose to be counted a fool by men that he might be found wise before God—a foundation of gold, silver, and precious stones built upon the one foundation, which is Jesus Christ.

• “The wilderness is the mother of silence; it is a calm and a harbor, delivering us from all turmoils.”—St. John Chrysostom
• “So absolutely nothing does it avail to be near Christ, if we are not near Him by faith.”—St. John Chrysostom
• “See how Peter prevailed over that which was greater, the sea, but was afraid of the lesser peril, the wind; such is the weakness of human nature.”—Blessed Theophylact
• “He does not hesitate to bring on worse things, more alarming than those before. He was training them by the continuance of these fears, and instructing them to be ready to endure.”—St. John Chrysostom
• “By crying out, ‘Lord, save me,’ he was healed of his unbelief. This is why he hears, ‘O thou of little faith,’ and not ‘O thou of no faith.’”—Blessed Theophylact
• “It is not an attribute of man to walk on the sea, but of God.”—Blessed Theophylact
• “As they knew Him not by sight, He makes Himself manifest by His voice.”—St. John Chrysostom
• “Touch the edge of Christ’s garment, which is the end of His sojourning in the flesh; for if you believe that He ascended, you will be saved.”—Blessed Theophylact

”Immediately Jesus made His disciples get into the boat and go before Him to the other side, while He sent the multitudes away.”

Blessed Theophylact of Ochrid (+1107) By saying “constrained,” Matthew suggests how inseparable the disciples were from Jesus, for they wanted to be with Him at all times. He sends the multitudes away, not wishing to draw them after Him lest He appear to vaunt in His powers.

”And when He had sent the multitudes away, He went up on the mountain by Himself to pray. Now when evening came, He was alone there.”

St. John Chrysostom (+407) For what purpose does He go up into the mountain? To teach us that solitude and seclusion are good, when we are to pray to God. With this in view, we find Him continually withdrawing into the wilderness, and there He often spends the whole night in prayer. This teaches us earnestly to seek such quietness in our prayers as the time and place may afford. For the wilderness is the mother of silence; it is a calm and a harbor, delivering us from all turmoils.

Blessed Theophylact of Ochrid (+1107) He went up on the mountain to show that we should pray in an undistracted manner; everything He did was for our sake, as He Himself had no need of prayer. He prayed on into the evening, teaching us not to cease praying after a short time, and also to pray especially at night, for it is very quiet then. He permits the disciples to be caught in a storm, so that they might learn to endure trials bravely and know His power.

”But the boat was now in the middle of the sea, tossed by the waves, for the wind was contrary.”

St. John Chrysostom (+407) The disciples are tossed by the waves again, and undergo a storm equal to the former. But whereas before they had Him in the ship, now they were alone by themselves. Thus, gently and by degrees, He urges them on toward the bearing of all things nobly. He does not even come to them, but departs, and in mid-sea permits the storm to arise, so that they might not so much as look for a hope of preservation from any earthly quarter; and He lets them be tempest-tossed all the night, thoroughly to awaken their hardened heart.

”Now in the fourth watch of the night Jesus went to them, walking on the sea.”

St. John Chrysostom (+407) Neither did He present Himself to them at once. For in the fourth watch of the night He went unto them, walking upon the sea, instructing them not hastily to seek for deliverance from their pressing dangers, but to bear all things nobly.

”And when the disciples saw Him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, ‘It is a ghost!’ And they cried out for fear.”

St. John Chrysostom (+407) This is the way He constantly deals with our fears. When He is on the point of removing our terrors, He brings upon us other worse things, and more alarming. Together with the storm, the sight too troubled them, no less than the storm. Therefore neither did He remove the darkness, nor straightway make Himself manifest, training them by the continuance of these fears, and instructing them to be ready to endure.

”But immediately Jesus spoke to them, saying, ‘Be of good cheer! It is I; do not be afraid.’”

St. John Chrysostom (+407) This word removed their fear, and caused them to take confidence. For as they knew Him not by sight, because of His marvelous kind of motion, and because of the time, He makes Himself manifest by His voice.

Blessed Theophylact of Ochrid (+1107) He did not appear immediately to calm the storm, but at the fourth watch, teaching us not to ask for a swift solution to our misfortunes but to endure them bravely. They did not recognize Him, because it was night and because of fear. He first strengthens their resolve by saying: It is I, Who can do all things; take courage.

”And Peter answered Him and said, ‘Lord, if it is You, command me to come to You on the water.’”

St. John Chrysostom (+407) What then says Peter, everywhere ardent, and ever starting forward before the rest? He said not, “Pray and entreat,” but “bid.” See how great his ardor, how great his faith. For he not only believed that He was able Himself to walk on the sea, but that He could lead upon it others also; and he longs to be quickly near Him.

Blessed Theophylact of Ochrid (+1107) As Peter had the most fervent love for Christ, he desires immediately, before the others, to be near Him. For he believes not only that Jesus Himself walks on the water, but that He will grant this to him as well. Peter did not say, “Bid me to walk,” but rather “to come unto Thee.” The former would have been ostentation; the latter is love for Christ.

”So He said, ‘Come.’ And when Peter had come down out of the boat, he walked on the water to go to Jesus.”

St. John Chrysostom (+407) This is more wonderful than the former sign. When He had shown that He rules the sea, then He carries the sign on to what is yet more marvelous, for now He both walks Himself and permits another to do so. Peter, having come down from the ship, went to Jesus, not rejoicing so much in walking on the water as in coming unto Him.

Blessed Theophylact of Ochrid (+1107) The Lord laid the sea down beneath Peter’s feet, revealing His power. See how Peter prevailed over that which was greater, the sea, but was afraid of the lesser peril, the wind; such is the weakness of human nature. And it was as soon as he became afraid that he began to sink.

”But when he saw that the wind was boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink he cried out, saying, ‘Lord, save me!’”

St. John Chrysostom (+407) When he had prevailed over the greater, he was on the point of suffering evil from the less—from the violence of the wind, not of the sea. For such is human nature; not seldom effecting great things, it exposes itself in the less. He took courage to walk upon the water, but against the assault of the wind he was no longer able to stand; and this, being near Christ. So absolutely nothing does it avail to be near Christ, if we are not near Him by faith.

”And immediately Jesus stretched out His hand and caught him, and said to him, ‘O you of little faith, why did you doubt?’”

St. John Chrysostom (+407) Signifying that not the assault of the wind, but his want of faith had wrought his overthrow, He says, “Wherefore didst thou doubt, O thou of little faith?” So that if his faith had not been weak, he would have stood easily against the wind also. And as when a nestling has come out of the nest before the time and is on the point of falling, its mother bears it on her wings and brings it back to the nest—even so did Christ.

Blessed Theophylact of Ochrid (+1107) Showing that the cause of his sinking was not the wind but faintheartedness, Christ does not rebuke the wind, but the fainthearted Peter. Peter did not doubt in everything, but in part. Inasmuch as he was afraid, he showed lack of faith; but by crying out, “Lord, save me,” he was healed of his unbelief. This is why he hears the words, “O thou of little faith,” and not “O thou of no faith.” For it is not an attribute of man to walk on the sea, but of God. The spiritual meaning of the miracle is this: the boat is the earth; the waves, man’s life troubled by evil spirits; the night, ignorance. In the fourth watch, that is, at the end of the ages, Christ appeared.

”And when they got into the boat, the wind ceased.”

St. John Chrysostom (+407) Whereas before this they had said, “What manner of man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey Him?”—now it is no longer so; now they confess Him plainly.

”Then those who were in the boat came and worshiped Him, saying, ‘Truly You are the Son of God.’”

Blessed Theophylact of Ochrid (+1107) Recognizing Jesus by these things, they confessed His divinity. For it is not an attribute of man to walk on the sea, but of God, as David says: “In the sea are Thy byways, and Thy paths in many waters.”

”When they had crossed over, they came to the land of Gennesaret.”

St. John Chrysostom (+407) They did not approach Him as before, dragging Him into their houses, and seeking a touch of His hand; but in a far higher strain, and with more of self-denial, and with a more abundant faith, they tried to win themselves a cure. This interval of miracles, far from abolishing their faith, had made it even greater.

Blessed Theophylact of Ochrid (+1107) You also, O reader, touch the edge of Christ’s garment, which is the end of His sojourning in the flesh. For if you believe that He ascended, you will be saved. The garment means His flesh, and its hem, the end of His life on earth.

Source: Homilies on the Gospel of St. Matthew, Homily 50

Chrysostom’s fiftieth homily on Matthew is the fountainhead of the Eastern reading of this pericope. He dwells on the pedagogy of the storm: Christ deliberately delays His coming, allows the disciples to be tossed until the fourth watch, and withdraws His visible presence, all in order to train them to endure and to seek their hope from no earthly quarter. His portrait of Peter is neither flattering nor dismissive—ardent in love, weak in faith, yet caught by the outstretched hand. The homily’s memorable image of Christ as a mother-bird bearing a fallen nestling back to the nest belongs to this text.

Source: The Explanation of the Holy Gospel According to St. Matthew

Theophylact, drawing on Chrysostom but writing with his own economy, supplies both the pastoral and the allegorical layers of the passage. He reads the whole scene as an image of the Church and the world: the boat is the earth, the waves are human life troubled by evil spirits, the night is ignorance, and the fourth watch is the end of the ages when Christ appears. His distinction between “little faith” and “no faith”—Peter is rebuked for the former, never accused of the latter—is one of the most preachable insights the tradition offers on this Gospel.

The heart of this Gospel is the double movement of Peter—his walking and his sinking—and the Fathers refuse to reduce it to a simple lesson. Peter’s request to come across the water is not presumption but love: “he did not say, ‘Bid me to walk,’ but ‘Bid me come unto Thee,’” as Theophylact notes; the whole desire is for nearness to Christ. And his first steps are real. He does walk. The miracle is genuine before it falters. What undoes him is not the request but the shift of his gaze: as long as he looks to the Lord who bids him come, the water bears him; when he looks instead at the wind and his own weakness, he begins to sink.

Chrysostom locates the failure precisely: “not the assault of the wind, but his want of faith had wrought his overthrow.” Yet the same want of faith that sinks Peter also teaches him—and us—the one thing needful. “So absolutely nothing does it avail to be near Christ, if we are not near Him by faith.” Peter is bodily as close to Christ as a man can be, walking toward Him on the sea, and still he sinks; proximity is not the same as trust. The preacher may draw the line straight to the life of every believer who stands near Christ in the sacraments and the services yet founders in the storm for want of living faith.

Theophylact’s careful reading rescues this Gospel from despair. Peter is rebuked, but the rebuke is measured: “O thou of little faith,” not “O thou of no faith.” His faith weakened, but it did not fail; even as he sank, he cried, “Lord, save me,” and that cry was itself the act of faith that saved him. Doubt “in part” is not apostasy. The word to the congregation is one of hope: the same hand that reaches for the sinking is stretched out still, and the cry of the drowning—“Lord, save me”—is never unheard. The distance between the two is not the distance between the faithful and the faithless, but between faith that is strong and faith that is small and still learning.

The Fathers read the storm-tossed boat as the Church herself, and the Sunday’s commemoration of the Protomartyr’s relics deepens the image. The Church crosses a dark and contrary sea; the wind of temptation and the powers of this world beat against her; the Lord seems, for a night, to have withdrawn to the mountain. Yet He comes—in the fourth watch, at the very end, when hope from every earthly quarter has failed. Theophylact’s allegory makes the night into ignorance and the fourth watch into the end of the ages, so that the whole scene becomes an icon of the Church’s pilgrimage toward the Second Coming. The preacher can set this against the Epistle’s assurance that the one foundation, Jesus Christ, has already been laid, and no storm can shift it.

Saint Paul’s words to the Corinthians run parallel to the Gospel like a second current. “We are God’s fellow workers... you are God’s building.” The Christian life is a construction upon a single foundation, and “no other foundation can anyone lay than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ.” The Gospel dramatizes what the Epistle asserts: to build upon Christ is to walk upon the water, and to build upon oneself—upon the shifting wind of one’s own strength—is to sink. Paul’s warning that each one’s work will be tried by fire, and Peter’s testing by the storm, are the same lesson in two keys. And Paul’s astonishing claim—“you are the temple of God, and the Spirit of God dwells in you”—gives the deepest ground for the confidence the Gospel commends: the One who walks upon the waters also dwells within the very ones He rescues.

”From on high didst Thou descend, O compassionate One; to burial of three days hast Thou submitted that Thou mightest free us from our passions. O our Life and Resurrection, O Lord, glory be to Thee.”

The tone of the week gathers the whole Gospel into a single confession: the Lord who descends from the mountain to walk upon the sea is the same who descended to the tomb and rose to free us from our passions, our “Life and Resurrection.”

”For the struggles you endured for Christ God, a royal diadem crowns your head, O First Champion of Martyrs; for you refuted the folly of the Jews and beheld your Savior on the right hand of the Father. Ever beseech Him, therefore, for our souls.”

Stephen “beheld his Savior on the right hand of the Father” in the hour of his death; the disciples in the boat behold and worship the same Lord who stills their storm. Both are moments when heaven opens and the divinity of Christ is confessed.

”O Protection of Christians that cannot be put to shame, mediation unto the Creator most constant: O despise not the suppliant voices of those who have sinned; but be thou quick, O good one, to come unto our aid, who cry unto thee in faith: Hasten to intercession, and speed thou to make supplication, O thou who dost ever protect, O Theotokos, them that honor thee.”

The appointed Sunday kontakion is the Church’s own cry of “Lord, save me” through the intercession of the Mother of God—fitting on a Sunday when the Gospel shows the sinking disciple rescued by the outstretched hand, and fitting in this season of the Dormition Fast, when the faithful turn especially to her protection.