To Alexandra, on the Death of Her Husband

If I had considered only the kind of loss you have suffered, I would have needed comfort myself, not only because I count whatever concerns you, pleasant or otherwise, as my own concern, but because I loved that admirable and truly excellent man so dearly. But the divine decree has taken him from us and moved him to the better life. So I scatter the cloud of sorrow from my own soul, and I urge you, my worthy friend, to overcome the pain of your grief by the power of reason, and in this hour of need to bring your soul under the spell of God’s word. Why do we take in the teaching of the divine Scriptures from our very cradles, like milk from the breast, if not so that, when trouble falls on us, we may apply the teaching of the Spirit as a salve to our pain? I know how sad, how very hard it is to have known the worth of someone we love, and then suddenly to lose him and fall in a moment from happiness to misery. But to those who have good sense and use their power of right reason, nothing that happens to human beings comes entirely unforeseen. Nothing human is stable, nothing lasting: not beauty, not wealth, not health, not rank, nor any of the things most people value so highly. Some fall from the height of wealth to the depths of poverty. Some lose their health and struggle with diseases of various kinds. Some who are proud of the splendor of their family line drag the crushing yoke of slavery. Beauty is spoiled by sickness and marred by old age. And very wisely the supreme Ruler has allowed none of these things to last or remain. His purpose is that those who have them, fearing change, may lower their proud looks, and, knowing how all such possessions ebb and flow, may stop trusting in what is brief and fleeting and fix their hopes on the Giver of all good. I know, my excellent friend, that you know all this. I ask you to reflect on human nature. You will find that it is mortal, and received the sentence of death from the beginning. It was to Adam that God said, “Dust you are, and to dust you will return.” The one who gave that law never lies, and experience bears witness to his truth. Divine Scripture tells us, “All have one entrance into life, and a like going out,” and everyone who is born waits for the grave. Nor do all live the same length of time. Some come to their end far too soon, some in the strength of manhood, and some after they have known the trials of old age. In the same way, those who have taken on the yoke of marriage are set free from it, and either the husband must depart first, or the wife must reach the end of this life before him. Some have only just entered the bridal chamber when weeping and mourning become their lot; some live together a little while. It is enough to remember that grief is common to all, to give reason ground for overcoming grief. Besides all this, even those mastered by the bitterest sorrow may take comfort in thinking that the one who has died was the father of sons; that he left them grown up; that he had reached a very high position, and in it, so far from giving anyone cause for envy, made people love him all the more; and that he left behind him a name for generosity, for hatred of all wickedness, for gentleness, and indeed for every kind of moral goodness. [a]

But what excuse for despondency will be left to us if we take to heart God’s own promises and the hopes of Christians? I mean the resurrection, eternal life, a lasting place in the kingdom, and all the things that “eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man, the things which God has prepared for those who love him.” Does not the apostle say emphatically, “I would not have you ignorant, brothers, concerning those who are asleep, so that you do not grieve as others do who have no hope”? I have known many people who, even without hope, got the better of their grief by the force of reason alone. It would be extraordinary indeed if those who are upheld by such a hope proved weaker than those who have no hope at all. So, I implore you, let us think of his end as a long journey. When he went on a journey we used to be sorry, but we waited for his return. Now let the separation sadden us to some degree, for I am not urging anything contrary to human nature; but let us not wail as over a corpse. Let us rather congratulate him on setting out and leaving this world, because he is now free from a world of uncertainties, and fears no further change of soul, or of body, or of bodily condition. The contest is over, and he is waiting for his reward. Do not grieve too much over orphanhood and widowhood. We have a greater Guardian, whose law it is that everyone should take good care of orphans and widows, and of whom the divine David says, “The Lord relieves the fatherless and the widow, but the way of the wicked he turns upside down.” Only let us put the rudders of our lives in his hands, and we will meet with a providence that never fails. His guardianship will be surer than any human guardian’s can be, for his are the words, “Can a woman forget her nursing child, so as to have no compassion on the son of her womb? Yet I will not forget you.” He is nearer to us than father and mother, for he is our Maker and Creator. It is not marriage that makes fathers; fathers are made fathers at his will. [d]

I am compelled to write like this because my bonds do not allow me to hurry to you. But your most God-loving and most holy bishop is able by himself to give your very faithful soul every comfort, by word and by deed, by his presence and by sharing his thoughts, and by that spiritual and God-given wisdom of his, by which I trust the storm of your grief will be lulled to sleep. [h]