John Chrysostom
All sorrow, compassion, and profound empathy! When the only-begotten Son departed from this earthly realm, the grieving mother lamented: "In name only am I a mother, for the pains of childbirth have brought forth death. I had one branch on the vine, and the tempest of death has laid it low; one source of support I possessed, and that has been taken from me by death." The widow was left without support; she regarded her existence as devoid of meaning. The loss of her sole son brought her no comfort. She endured a dual sorrow; her suffering was beyond consolation, and no one could ease her anguish. Tears streamed down her face like rivers, and the weight of her grief was unbearable. She reflected on her son's maturity; love tore at her very soul.
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Thus, she became a widow, a state that is the most burdensome and pitiable; she had lost her husband and her only child. Indeed, the label of widow evokes pity, filled with weeping and tears that stir compassion. None of those who beheld her remained untouched by sorrow; their hearts were rent asunder as they could not determine whom to mourn more: the deceased son or the grieving widow. Yet, perhaps it is an error to refer to the widow as truly living: what widow truly lives? While she appears alive (I speak of the present moment, not the future), in reality, she is dead. In this life, the widow, if she possesses wealth, gradually diminishes her sorrow, fortifies herself with hope, soothes her wounds, and finds relief from her suffering, nurtured by prosperity, and is often lulled into a semblance of peace. Though her grief may be great and her adversaries ever near, the weight of her troubles feels lighter in the absence of poverty. But the destitute widow becomes a reservoir of tears, a source of temptation, a defenseless stronghold, a barren wellspring, a mother of lament, a slumberer deprived of joy, a mistress of need, a neighbor of hunger, a vessel of sorrow, a shattered staff, an unwelcome visitor, a bitter union, an unsightly adornment, a forsaken pillar, a tree without roots, a darkness that knows no light, a threshold of the church, a culmination of many prayers, a bold accuser of her foes. She cries out to God concerning her husband, armed with the wrath of God ready to exact vengeance. In her anguish, she rends the heavens with her supplications, fiercely striking her own breast, imploring divine assistance against those who unjustly assail her. Without a child, impoverished, and lacking an advocate, she stirs the anger and indignation of the Almighty towards those who doubt that He is the judge of widows and orphans. If it so happens that she has a son, she gradually cherishes his growth, deluding herself with hope, strengthened by this fruit. She gazes at the branch and honors the root; she embraces the vine and loves the one who nurtured it; she sees her portion and contemplates the whole; she embraces the living and doesn't scorn the dead; she notes her son's features and perceives the image of the father. As long as her child remains alive, the widow finds it easier to bear the trials of this life. But if the child, while the mother still lives, should pass away, bidding farewell to her and returning to the father, the true widow is left to bear the full weight of sorrow. Once her only son died, she, draped in the garb of mourning, began to utter thoughtless words, questioning the fairness of God with reproach; as if wronged, she declared: "Has my only son already burdened the earth? Others bear the pains of childbirth, yet my one child has been taken from me. My life feels utterly forsaken: my husband and my son are gone. Who will comfort me now? Who will care for me? I thought that through him, I had gained a measure of strength; all I needed was to hear: 'Mother!' His father left him in my care as an infant, without means; and I, a helpless widow, relying on my own efforts, nurtured him, outfitted him with clothing threefold, and generously provided for his education – and now, just as I anticipated a bountiful harvest, I am met with a storm of trials. Oh, the sorrow! Yet I have resolved what I shall do. I will entomb myself alongside my son; I will satisfy those who envy me; my relatives have consumed my spirit, believing I possess a noble son. Let all of my slanderers come forth! I will not delay the burial of my own son; for to me, the prospect of an afterlife seems absurd."