Letter 6

6. To the wife of Nectarius, a letter of consolation

I was about to keep silent toward your gracious self, reasoning that, just as to an inflamed eye even the gentlest of remedies brings distress, so too to a soul afflicted by heavy grief, even though it bring much comfort, speech somehow seems troublesome when offered in the midst of anguish. But since it came to me that my words would be addressed to a Christian woman, long since trained in divine things and prepared for what is human, I did not think it right to omit what falls to me to do. I know what the inward feelings of mothers are; and when I consider in particular how kind and gentle you are toward all, I reckon how great, in all likelihood, is your pain over what has now happened. You have been bereaved of a child whom, while he lived, all mothers blessed, and prayed that their own might be such; and whom, when he died, they bewailed, as though each had buried her own in the earth. His death became a blow to two countries, both ours and that of the Cilicians. With him fell his great and illustrious family, shaken down as though a prop had been taken away from under it. O encounter with an evil demon, how great a calamity it had the strength to work! O earth, compelled to receive such an affliction! Perhaps even the sun shuddered, if it has any perception, at that grim sight. And what could one say so great as the helplessness of the soul suggests?

But our affairs are not unforeseen by Providence, since we have learned in the Gospel that not even a sparrow falls without the will of our Father. So if anything has come to pass, it has come to pass by the will of Him who created us. And who has resisted the will of God? Let us accept what has befallen; for by being impatient we neither set right what has happened, and we destroy ourselves besides. Let us not accuse the just judgment of God. We are too ignorant to test His unspeakable decrees. Now the Lord takes proof of your love toward Him. Now is the time present for you, through endurance, to receive the portion of the martyrs. The mother of the Maccabees saw the death of seven children and did not groan, nor did she shed an ignoble tear, but giving thanks to God because she saw them set free by fire and sword and the most cruel torments from the bonds of the flesh, she was judged of good repute before God and renowned among men. Great is the affliction, I too say; but great also are the rewards laid up from the Lord for those who endure.

When you became a mother and saw your child and gave thanks to God, you knew assuredly that, being mortal, you had given birth to one mortal. What, then, is strange, if the mortal has died? But it grieves us that it is untimely. It is uncertain whether it was not timely, since we do not know how to choose what is profitable for our souls, nor to set fixed terms to human life. Look around at the whole world in which you dwell, and consider that all things seen are mortal and all subject to corruption. Look up to heaven: this too will one day be dissolved. Look to the sun: not even this will endure. The stars all together, the creatures of land and water, the beauties about the earth, the earth itself—all are corruptible, all a little later will not be. Let the thought of these things be a consolation for what has happened. Do not measure the affliction by itself, for so it will appear unbearable to you; but comparing it with all human things, you will find from this its consolation. And above all I have this strong word to say: spare your husband. Be a consolation to each other. Do not make the calamity harder for him by consuming yourself in grief. On the whole, I do not think that words suffice for comfort, but I hold that there is need of prayer for the present circumstances. I pray, then, that the Lord Himself, touching your heart by His unspeakable power, may make light in your soul through good thoughts, so that you may have from within yourself the sources of consolation.