John Chrysostom
Then, to show that by speaking in this way He had not yet given them perfect knowledge, but had spoken so that they would not be troubled in their thoughts, He says: These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. They might naturally think something merely human, and imagine that they would receive no help from Him. Therefore He says this, meaning: Do not remove Me from your thoughts, but always keep Me in your heart.
Therefore let no one make a dogma from these words. They were spoken for our consolation and out of love. He says: You are not suffering such things only now, and your troubles will not end with this. As long as you are in the world, you will have tribulation. Not only now, when they betray Me, but afterward also.
But be of good cheer. You will suffer no harm. When the Teacher has conquered the enemies, the disciples should no longer grieve. But tell me, how have You conquered the world? I have said that I have cast down its prince. You will know this later as well, when all things yield and obey you.
We too, if we wish, can conquer by looking to the Author of our faith and walking the path He opened for us. In this case, even death will not overcome us. What then, you will say, shall we not die? It would indeed be evident from this that it does not overcome us.
But a combatant is not glorious when he does not enter the struggle with the enemy. He is glorious when, after fighting, he remains unconquered. So we are not mortal because we enter the contest, but immortal because we conquer it. We would be mortal if we remained forever in its power.
Therefore, just as I cannot call the longest-lived animals immortal, though they do not die for a long time, so I cannot call mortal the man who, after being struck by death, rises after death.
Tell me, if someone blushed for a short time, would we therefore always call him red? No, because this is not his usual state. If someone turned pale, would we say he had jaundice? No, because that state is momentary.
So do not call mortal the man who is subjected to death for a short time. Otherwise we would have to say the same about those who sleep, because they also, so to speak, die and become inactive.
But death dissolves bodies. What of it? It dissolves them, not so that they may remain in corruption, but so that they may be made better. Let us then conquer the world. Let us strive for immortality. Let us follow the King, set up the trophy, and despise worldly pleasures.
No labors are needed. Let us transfer the soul to heaven, and the whole world is conquered. If you are not attached to it, it is conquered. If you laugh at it, it is put to shame.
We are strangers and pilgrims. Let us not be distressed by anything sorrowful. If you came from a glorious homeland and noble ancestors to a distant land, where no one knew you, and had neither servants nor wealth, and someone there wronged you, you would not grieve as if you had suffered this at home.
The clear awareness that you were not in your own land, but in a foreign country, would help you bear everything easily: contempt, hunger, thirst, and whatever might happen.
Think in this way now. You are a stranger and a pilgrim. Let nothing trouble you in this foreign land. You have a city whose Maker and Builder is God, and your stay here is brief and short-lived.
Let anyone who wishes strike, wrong, and revile. We are in a foreign land and live in poverty. It is grievous to suffer this in one's homeland, among fellow citizens. Then it is the greatest dishonor and misfortune. But if someone is where he has not a single acquaintance, everything is easy for him to bear.
An insult is especially bitter when it is given intentionally. For example, if someone insults a ruler, knowing that he is a ruler, then the insult is bitter. But if he insults him, taking him for a simple man, the insult cannot even touch the one subjected to it.
Let us reason in the same way. Those who insult us do not know at all who we are, that we are citizens of heaven, enrolled in the homeland above, and belong to the choir of the Cherubim. Let us not grieve, then, and let us not regard insult as insult. If they knew us, they would not insult us.
But they consider us poor and insignificant. Let us not regard even this as an insult. Tell me: if a traveler, having gone a little ahead of his servants, stopped at an inn to wait for them, and the innkeeper or one of the travelers, not knowing who he was, began to be annoyed with him and revile him, would he not laugh at such ignorance?
Would this mistake not rather give him pleasure? Would he not be amused by it, as though someone else were being insulted? Let us do the same. We too are sitting in an inn, waiting for our companions who are traveling the same road.
When we are all together, then they will know whom they insulted. Then they will bow their heads and say: This is the one whom we once had in derision, fools that we were (Wis 5:3).
Let us comfort ourselves with two thoughts. First, we are not insulted, because those who insult us do not know who we are. Second, if we wish to demand satisfaction, they will be subjected to the heaviest punishment. But may God forbid that anyone have such a cruel and inhuman soul.
What then, if our own kin insult us? Is that not grievous? On the contrary, this is easy. Why? Because we do not bear injuries from those we love in the same way as from those we do not know.
Therefore, when comforting the injured, we often say such words: Your brother has wronged you; bear it nobly. Your father has wronged you, or your uncle has wronged you. If the name of brother and father has such force, what if I name something still more intimate?
We are not only brothers to one another, but members and one body. If we value the name of brother, much more should we value the name of member. Have you not heard the worldly proverb which says that one must endure even faults in friends?
Have you not heard Paul saying: Bear one another's burdens (Gal 6:2)? Do you not see lovers? Among you I cannot find another example, so I am forced to turn my speech to this subject.
Paul also does the same, saying: Moreover, if we were corrected by our fathers according to the flesh and gave them reverence (Heb 12:9). Especially fitting here is what he writes to the Romans: As you presented your members as slaves to impurity and lawlessness unto lawless deeds, so now present your members as slaves to righteousness (Rom 6:19).
Therefore we too shall boldly keep to this example. Do you not see lovers? How many troubles they endure, burning with passion for immoral women. They are slapped, beaten, and laughed at. They endure a corrupt harlot who turns away from them and inflicts a thousand insults on them.
Yet despite all this, if only once they see something pleasant and gentle, all seems well to them. Everything before disappears, and they bear everything lightly, whether poverty, illness, or anything similar. They consider their life miserable or blessed according to the disposition of their mistress toward them.
They know neither human glory nor dishonor. Even if someone insults them, they bear all easily because of their great pleasure and because of her favor. If she herself reviles them or spits in their face, they endure it and think that roses are being thrown at them.
Why is it surprising that they are so disposed toward her? They consider her house more magnificent than all houses, even if it is made of clay and about to collapse. And why do I speak of walls? They are stirred even by seeing the places where they are in the evening.
But here at last allow me to speak the apostolic word. As Paul said, As you presented your members as slaves to impurity, so present your members to righteousness, so I also say: As you loved these women, so love one another, and nothing will seem hard to you.
And why do I say, one another? Let us love God in this way. You shuddered when you heard that I require the same measure of love for God that some show toward the instruments of their passions. But I shudder that we do not show even such love.
If you wish, let us examine this more closely, though it is very painful to speak about. A mistress promises her lover nothing good, but dishonor, shame, and reproach. Association with a harlot produces exactly this. It makes a man ridiculous, disgraceful, and dishonored.
But God promises us heaven and the heavenly blessings. He has made us His sons, brothers of the Only-begotten. In this life He has presented you with countless blessings, and after death He promises to grant resurrection and as many blessings as cannot even be imagined. He makes us worthy of honor and respect.
Again, she makes one squander all his property into an abyss and to destruction. But God commands us to sow for heaven, repays a hundredfold, and grants eternal life. She treats her lover like a slave, ruling more harshly than any tyrant. But God says: I no longer call you servants, but friends (Jn 15:15).
Have you seen how many evils are there, and how many blessings are here? And what happens after this? For the mistress, many spend sleepless nights and perform with zeal whatever she commands. They abandon house, father, mother, friends, wealth, and honors, and throw all their possessions into disorder and ruin.
But for God, or rather for ourselves, we do not wish to spend even a third part of our property. Seeing a hungry man, we turn our gaze away. We pass by the naked and do not deem him worthy even of a word.
But lovers, if they see even the maidservant of their mistress, a crude woman, stop with her in the middle of the marketplace. As though displaying themselves and taking pride in this, they converse with her and pour out long speeches.
For the mistress they count life, rulers, and the kingdom as nothing, as those know who have experienced this disease. They are more grateful to her for her commands than to others for their services. After this, is Gehenna not just? Are countless punishments not just?
Let us sober up, then, and devote to God's service at least as much as others give to a harlot. Let us give even half, or even a third part. Perhaps you shudder again. Yes, I also shudder.
But I would wish you to shudder not only at the words, but at the deed itself. Meanwhile, here our heart is constricted, but as soon as we go out, we cast everything aside. What profit is there in that?
There, if money must be spent, no one complains of poverty. Often, being enslaved, they even borrow and give. But here, if we remember almsgiving, children, wives, house, public office, and a thousand excuses are presented to us.
But there, you say, there is much pleasure. This is exactly why I weep and lament. What if I show that here there is greater pleasure? There, shame, reproach, the spending of money, and finally quarrels and enmity take away no small part of the pleasure. Here there is nothing of the kind.
Tell me, what can compare with this pleasure: to live in expectation of heaven and the heavenly kingdom, the splendor of the saints, and unending life? But this, you say, is in expectation, while that is in reality.
In what reality? Do you wish me to say that here also it is in reality? Consider what freedom you enjoy. Living virtuously, you fear and dread no one: neither enemy, nor plotter, nor slanderer, nor rival, nor competitor in love, nor envious man, nor poverty, nor sickness, nor anything else human.
There, on the contrary, even if much goes according to desire, and even if wealth flows in as from a spring, quarrels with rivals, slanders, and plots make the life of one bound to them most miserable.
Because of pleasing that contemptible, corrupt, and pleasure-loving woman, quarrels inevitably arise. This is worse than a thousand deaths and more unbearable than any punishment. Here there is nothing of the kind. The fruit of the Spirit, says the Apostle, is love, joy, peace (Gal 5:22).