From this, we can derive two important lessons: first, that our earthly existence is fundamentally a pilgrimage, where the grave serves as the only true homeland and inheritance for our bodies; and second, that everything we possess in life is, in essence, foreign to us, with the grave being our only genuine possession where our bodies shall return to dust.
Life, characterized by wandering, reveals that not everyone ages in the same locale of their birth; one may be born in the east yet dwell in the west, while another does the opposite. Moreover, our lives are inherently transient, not anchored in a single moment, but rather flowing continually — moving from childhood to adulthood, and inevitably towards the latter stages of life, which culminate in aging and decline. There exists not a single moment when our lives pause. Even if it appears the sun stands still in the sky, it is perpetually on the move, traversing an immense celestial path within twenty-four hours. Similarly, while human life may seem static, it constantly races forward, and does not experience what occurred to the sun during Joshua's time when “the sun stood in the midst of heaven, and would not go westward soon at the fulfilment of one day” (Hab. 10:13). The reality is that life too is an unending flow, fleeting and ephemeral like a traveler glimpsed briefly before vanishing from view.
Our existence is akin to a journey because it fluctuates in fortunes and joys; one can be wealthy today and destitute tomorrow, joyful in one moment, sorrowful in the next, esteemed one day, and scorned the following. Just as a traveler passes cities, mountains, and forests, viewing many pleasant sights only briefly before moving on, our lives too will inevitably pass all the beautiful and prosperous aspects of this world, despite our desires to linger, grasp, and revel in them. The urgency of this transience is echoed in the Wisdom of Solomon, which mournfully states: “What use is pride to us, or riches with greatness, what reward shall we receive? All these things pass away like a shadow, and like a tidings flowing, and like a ship passing through the waves of the waters, and like a ship passing through the waves of the waters, whose passage no foot can find, and like a bird flying through the air, whose paths no sign is found, and like an arrow shot to the intended place: such is our wandering life” (Prem. 5:8-13). David reflects on this reality in prayer, declaring, “I am a stranger and a sojourner with you, as all my fathers were” (Psalm 38:13). The Apostle Peter also wisely advises, “Beloved, I pray you, as strangers and pilgrims, to abstain from fleshly lusts, which war against the soul” (1 Pet. 2:11).
Where then lies the homeland and inheritance of mortal man? In earthly terms, our true homeland is the grave, earth, and dust, for from there we originated, and to it, we shall return as decreed by God, who proclaimed: “Earth you are, and to earth you shall return” (Gen. 3:19). Just as the soul, gifted to man by God, ascends back to its divine source after departing the body (if it is righteous), so does the body, which is formed from the earth, return to the ground as its mother. This is exemplified by St. John the Theologian, who, upon entering his prepared tomb, instructed his disciples, “Having drawn the earth, my mother, cover me.” If such a revered saint recognized the earth as his body’s homeland, calling it his mother, how much more should we, flawed beings, acknowledge this truth? Thus, we must inevitably return to the earth, finding our ultimate belonging in the grave, where we will inherit not wealth but decay and worms, as Sirach states: “When man dies, he shall inherit creeping things, and beasts, and worms” (Sirach 10:13).
As our existence is a pilgrimage, and the tomb represents our true home, all worldly possessions are ultimately alien to us. Reflecting on Abraham's experience in Canaan, where he was always a foreigner, everything around him was not truly his — the cities, landscapes, and territories belonged to others. He possessed only a cave, acquired for the burial of his loved ones. Similarly, a traveler in a distant land does not claim any place as his own; wherever he rests at night is merely temporary and each sight of any riches remains external. Such a wanderer carries little more than essential garments and a day’s bread, fixated solely on reaching his destination.
In our own life journey, we hold possession of our homes and belongings only briefly. Whether or not we have a house, our dwellings and belongings are merely temporary, loaned to us for a time, destined to be relinquished to others. If our lives align with God’s will, then sustenance and clothing adequate to our needs will serve us well as we aspire toward eternal life alongside Christ. Humanity tends to cling to material possessions, striving for personal ownership and societal standing; yet, we must realize that our grasping is illusory — everything we possess is transient and ultimately belongs to someone else.
As we accumulate wealth and property, we must confront the reality that we cannot hold on to these possessions indefinitely. Will we remain in our homes eternally? Will we not be ejected while alive or carried out lifeless, cast into the earth? Even our estates and possessions are fleeting; stronger forces may seize them from us, or we shall leave them behind upon entering the grave. We may possess gold, silver, and precious treasures now, but one day we will be stripped of all, departing from this life destitute, often with scant burial clothing. For when a person dies, they forsake all pleasures and their glory diminishes (Psalm 48:18). “They shall fall asleep in their sleep and shall find nothing in their hands for all men of riches. They shall leave their riches to strangers,” the Psalmist says (Psalms 75:6 and 48:11). Everything we possess here is not ours but belongs to another.
You might protest, claiming ownership as long as you live or while in possession. But I assure you, even during your tenure as a possessor, your belongings are not truly yours; they emerged not from your essence. You were not born with them nor did you carry them out of your mother’s womb but borrowed them temporarily, and they will soon drift into the hands of another. Your garments, whether of wool or silk, are derived from sheep or the silkworm; your shoes from animal skins; your jewels from the earth’s depths, and much of what you possess may stem from unjust means. Therefore, anything obtained through plunder, theft, or another’s labor can hardly be claimed as your own. Upon birth, you entered this world naked and shall depart the same way. What is genuinely yours? Only the grave remains, your eventual dwelling place. As the Psalmist affirms, “Their tombs shall be their dwelling places forever” (Psalm 48:12).
In that house, you will remain without escape — untouched by the archangel’s call or the final trumpet. No one will cast you out; no one will covet the decay that will occupy that space; no one will steal away the worms consuming your body. Thus, your coffin is truly your own, while every other worldly possession is not. We brought nothing into this world and will carry nothing away. Given this truth, we should keep our focus on our final resting place, our true homeland in the grave, and remain ever mindful of mortality. Just as Abraham wisely purchased a burial site, we too should strive to secure our future through righteous acts, seeking a merciful end from God, a death marked by honor and blessed repose.
To receive such a fate, let us die to sin spiritually before our physical demise and bury our minds in contemplation of Christ's sufferings and His death on the cross, always holding the memory of His sacrifice close to our hearts. Such a death will be esteemed in the eyes of the Lord, leading to a blessed end.
THEOSIS