“Preach the word: be instant in season, out of season…” (2 Tim 4:2)
“You are the salt of the earth… You are the light of the world.” (Matt 5:13–14)
In today’s liturgical observance, the Church venerates Sanctus Ephraem Syrus, Confessor and Doctor of the Church, whose writings are steeped in poetic zeal and doctrinal precision, preserving the faith amid the theological confusions of the fourth century. Though commemorated in the Roman Rite with the dignity of a Tertia Classis feast, St. Ephraem’s voice rings out like a trumpet in the vast symphony of the Church Fathers, echoing the Apostle’s exhortation to Timothy and Our Lord’s divine command in the Sermon on the Mount.
The Epistle (2 Tim 4:1–8), likely among the last penned by St. Paul, is suffused with the tone of a father bequeathing his spiritual inheritance. “Preach the word,” he commands, “be instant in season, out of season.” The Greek ἐπίστηθι καιρῷ ἀκαίρως implies urgency even when inconvenient, even in a world that “will not endure sound doctrine” (v.3). St. Gregory the Great, in his Pastoral Rule, reflects this very urgency: “A spiritual director must know when to speak and when to be silent… for unseasonable silence is often more damaging than the most reckless speech.”
In like manner, St. Ephraem was a preacher by pen and prayer. His hymns were more than sacred poetry—they were catechesis, a bulwark against Arianism and Gnostic heresies. He did not merely lament the loss of truth in his age but labored to shine its light amidst the obscuring fog. In his Hymns on Faith, he writes: “Truth mixed with falsehood is a poisoned draught, sweet to the taste, but deadly to the soul.” What is this if not the echo of Paul’s charge to “reprove, entreat, rebuke with all patience and doctrine”?
The Gospel (Matt 5:13–19), from Our Lord’s Sermon on the Mount, reminds us of our mission not only to preserve but to radiate. “You are the salt of the earth… the light of the world.” Salt preserves; light reveals. But salt that loses its savor is fit only “to be cast out and trodden under foot.” St. Hilary of Poitiers—like Ephraem, a fierce opponent of the Arians—interprets this passage as a warning to the bishops and teachers of the Church: “They are the salt of the earth who preserve the faith; if they fall into error, they corrupt not only themselves but all whom they were to season.”
Here, too, Ephraem’s example becomes luminous. Living in Edessa, he refused ordination to the priesthood, choosing instead the lower station of deacon, which he called a “harbor of humility.” Yet from this humble post, he salted the Church with doctrine and lit up the East with his songs. He did not bury the lamp under a bushel. In fact, many of his hymns were written in response to heretical songs popular among the people—he replaced poison with balm, shadows with light.
Moreover, Our Lord’s stern warning in verse 19—“Whosoever therefore shall break one of these least commandments… shall be called the least in the kingdom of heaven”—reminds us that no part of the deposit of faith is expendable. In our own day, where doctrinal compromise is often masked as “pastoral sensitivity,” the voice of Ephraem calls from the desert: “Be not deceitful in speech; the word is sacred; do not profane it.” He teaches us, with Paul, that to fight the good fight and keep the faith is not an optional pursuit, but the very path to the crown of righteousness (2 Tim 4:7–8).
Let us, then, take courage from the Confessor of Edessa. In a Church often seduced by novelty, we must return to the salt and light of Tradition. The words of the Fathers are not relics but remedies. As we commemorate SS. Marci et Marcelliani—martyrs of the early Church—we are reminded that fidelity to the faith often demands suffering, but in that suffering, the Church is salted and preserved.
As St. Ephraem himself prayed:
“Make me salt, Lord, lest I rot.
Make me light, lest I dwell in darkness.
Let me not speak with honeyed tongue,
But with the fire of Thy Spirit,
That I may guard Thy truth
And sing it to the end.”
Amen.