They say: what kind of virtue is it to spend day and night in an outpouring of the soul, exulting and rejoicing? And how can anyone succeed in this, when thousands of calamities surround us that do not depend on us? These necessarily produce despondency in the soul. In them, rejoicing and being of good cheer is even more impossible than for one being burned not to feel pain, or one being pierced not to suffer.
Perhaps someone even among those around us here, suffering from this weakness of judgment, offers the same pretexts in excuse for his sins. Because of his own negligence in keeping the commandments, he thinks to turn this into a reproach against the Lawgiver, as though He commands the impossible.
He says: how can I always rejoice, when the causes of joy are not in my power? For what produces joy is outside us, not within us. Such are the arrival of a friend, the sight of parents after a long separation, the finding of money, honors from men, restoration to health after grave illness, and the rest of life’s prosperity.
These include a house filled with every abundance, a plentiful table, companions who are friendly in gladness, things that give pleasure to hearing and sight, the health of close relatives, and the successful course of their lives in every other respect. For the sorrows that befall us are not the only painful things. Those that grieve friends and relatives are painful as well.
Therefore all these things are necessary for the composition of joy and contentment of soul. And beyond this, when one happens to see the fall of enemies, the defeat of plotters, and the reward of benefactors, then joy may be in the soul. In a word, this happens when neither present nor expected difficulties disturb our life in the least.
Why, then, has a commandment been given to us whose fulfillment does not lie in our own will, but comes about as the result of other causes? And how shall I pray without ceasing, when bodily needs necessarily draw the mind of the soul to themselves? It is impossible for thought to be divided at one and the same time between two concerns.
But I am also commanded to give thanks for everything. Am I to give thanks when I am tortured, mocked, stretched upon the wheel, and my eyes are put out? Am I to give thanks when a hater strikes me shamefully, when I am numb with cold, when I am tormented by hunger, and when I am bound to a tree?
Am I to give thanks when I have suddenly lost my children, or even my wife herself? Am I to give thanks when I have unexpectedly lost my substance in a shipwreck, fallen among pirates at sea or robbers on land, when I am covered with wounds, slandered, made poor, and living in prison?
Those who accuse the Lawgiver gather together all these things and many others besides. They think to make their slander, that what is commanded us is impossible, serve as a justification for their sins.
What shall we say to this? That the Apostle has something else in view. He is trying to raise our souls from the earth to the heights, and to lead them into the heavenly way of life. They do not grasp the great thought of the Lawgiver. In bodily passions, like worms around filth, they coil around earth and flesh, and demand the possibility of fulfilling the apostolic commands.
But the Apostle does not invite everyone to rejoice always. He invites the one who is like himself, who no longer lives in the flesh, but has Christ living in him. For communion with the highest of goods in no way allows sympathy with what troubles the flesh.
Even if the flesh is cut apart, the sundering of its bond remains in the suffering part of the body. The spread of pain cannot reach the power within the soul. For if, according to the apostolic counsel, we have put to death "the members which are on the earth" (Col. 3:5), and bear "the dying of Jesus in the body" (2 Cor. 4:10), then the blow inflicted on the mortified body cannot reach the soul, which has been set free from communion with it.
Likewise dishonors, losses, and the death of those near us will not ascend to the mind. They will not bring down the loftiness of the soul into sympathy with things here. For if those who undergo hardships think in the same way as the man who attends to himself, they will not cause him grief, since they themselves bear what has happened to them without grief.
But if they live according to the flesh, even then they will not cause grief. Rather, they will be judged pitiable, not so much because of the constraint of their circumstances, as because they have chosen for themselves what they ought not.
In general, once the soul has been embraced by love for its Creator and has grown accustomed to delight in the beauties there, it will not lose its joy and good cheer through the varied changes of bodily sufferings. Rather, what is sorrowful for others will increase its gladness.
Such was the Apostle, who was well pleased "in weaknesses, in afflictions, in persecutions, in distresses," and boasted in his poverty. He was "in hunger and thirst, in cold and nakedness, in persecutions and hardships" (2 Cor. 6:4; 11:27). In the very things over which others grieve and renounce life, the Apostle rejoiced.
Therefore those who do not understand the apostolic thought, and do not perceive that he calls us to the evangelical life, dare to accuse Paul, as though he commands us the impossible.
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The Lord Himself wept over Lazarus (Jn 11:35). He also wept over Jerusalem (Lk 19:41). He blesses those who mourn (Mt 5:4), and in another place those who weep (Lk 6:21).
They say: how can this be reconciled with the words, "Rejoice always"? For tears and joy do not arise from the same causes. Tears usually are born from an unexpected impression. Like a blow, it strikes the soul and brings it into despondency, constricting the breath within the heart.
Joy, however, is as it were the leaping of the soul, delighted that events accord with its desire. Hence the changes in the body are also different. In those who grieve, the body is pale, bluish, and cold. In those who rejoice, the body’s condition is flourishing, and the countenance is ruddy. The soul almost leaps and rushes outward from pleasure.
To this we shall say that mourning and tears among the saints came from love for God. Always gazing upon the Beloved and increasing within themselves the gladness drawn from Him, they cared for the lot of their fellow servants. They mourned over those who sinned, and corrected them with tears.
Those who stand on the shore, moved with compassion for people drowning in the sea, do not lose their own safety through concern for those in distress. So those who mourn over the sins of their neighbors do not thereby destroy their own gladness. On the contrary, they increase it all the more, being counted worthy of joy from the Lord for their tears over a brother.
Therefore blessed are those who weep, and blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted and shall laugh (Lk 6:21; Mt 5:4). By laughter He does not mean the noise that comes from the cheeks when the blood boils. He means gladness undiluted and unmixed with anything sorrowful.
Therefore the Apostle permits us to weep with those who weep, because these tears are like a seed and pledge of eternal joy. Ascend in thought and contemplate the angelic state. Is any condition fitting for them other than joy and good cheer? For they have been counted worthy to stand before God and enjoy the ineffable beauty of the glory of Him Who created us.
Urging us toward this life, the Apostle commanded us to "rejoice always."
THEOSIS