To Bishop Irenaeus, on the Death of His Son-in-Law

Job, that famous tower of unbreakable stone and noble champion of goodness, was not shaken even by the blows of continual troubles of every kind. He stood firm, and nothing could take him. Yet at the end of all his trials the righteous Lawgiver explained the reason for them in these words: “Do you think that I answered you for any other reason than that you might appear righteous?” I think these words are known to Your Piety. You are able to bear the many and various attacks of troubles and anxieties, and so far from shrinking from them, you show the strength and steadiness with which you govern. So the generous Lord, seeing the courage and holiness of your soul, has refused to keep so worthy a champion hidden. He has brought him out to the contest, to adorn your venerable head with a crown of victory and to hold up your struggles to everyone else as a high example of good service. So, my dear friend, win this battle too, and bear bravely the death of your son-in-law, who was my own dear friend. Let your wisdom overcome the claims of kinship and the memory of a noble and generous character, a memory that must always call up something beyond the painter’s art or the orator’s skill. Drive back the assault of sorrow by thinking of him who wisely manages all human affairs, who knows the future perfectly and steers it rightly for our good. Let us share the joy of the one who has been set free from the storms of this life. Let us rather give thanks that, carried by kindly winds, he has cast anchor in the harbor where no wind blows, and has escaped the grievous shipwrecks this life is full of. But do I need to say all this to a tried gladiator of goodness? Do I need, as it were, to oil for endurance a man who himself trains other athletes? Still I write. It comforts me to write as I do, for I am truly grieved when I remember a friendship I valued so highly. Once more I praise the great Guide of all, who both knows what would be good for us and guides our life accordingly. I have dictated this after writing my earlier letter, when one of my friends in Antioch told me that the end had come. [a]