Homilies on First Thessalonians

But we, chaining ourselves down with numberless cares, and carrying with us the numberless burdens of this life, staring about, and loosely rambling, how do we expect to travel in that narrow road? He has not merely said that “narrow is the way”, but with wonder, “how narrow is the way,” that is, exceedingly narrow. And this we also do in things that are quite objects of wonder. And “straitened,” he says, “is the way which leads unto life.” And he has well said it. For when we are bound to give an account of our thoughts, and words, and actions, and all things, truly it is narrow. But we ourselves make it more narrow, spreading out and widening ourselves, and shuffling out our feet. For the narrow way is difficult to every one, but especially to him who is incumbered with fat, as he who makes himself lean will not perceive its narrowness. So that he who has practiced himself in being pinched, will not be discouraged at its pressure.

Let not any one therefore expect that he shall see heaven with ease. For it cannot be. Let no one hope to travel the narrow road with luxury, for it is impossible. Let no one traveling in the broad way hope for life. When therefore you see such and such an one luxuriating in baths, in a sumptuous table, or in other matters having troops of attendants; think not yourself unhappy, as not partaking of these things, but lament for him, that he is traveling the way to destruction. For what is the advantage of this way, when it ends in tribulation? And what is the injury of that straitness, when it leads to rest? Tell me, if any one invited to a palace should walk through narrow ways painful and precipitous, and another led to death should be dragged through the midst of the market-place, which shall we call happy? Which shall we commiserate? Him, shall we not, who walks through the broad road? So also now, let us think happy, not those who are luxurious, but those who are not luxurious. These are hastening to heaven, those to hell.

And perhaps indeed many of them will even laugh at the things that are said by us. But I most of all lament and bewail them on this account, that they do not even know what they ought to laugh at, and for what they ought especially to mourn, but they confound and disturb and disorder everything. On this account I bewail them. What do you say, O man, when you are to rise again, and to give an account of your actions, and to undergo the last sentence, do you pay no regard indeed to these, but give thought to gratifying your belly, and being drunken? And do you laugh at these things? But I bewail you, knowing the evils that await you, the punishment that is about to overtake you. And this I most especially bewail, that you dost laugh! Mourn with me, bewail with me your own evils. Tell me, if one of your friends perishes, do you not turn from those who laugh at his end, and think them enemies, but love those who weep and sympathize with you? Then indeed if the dead body of your wife were laid out, you turn from him that laughs: but when your soul is done to death, do you turn from him that weeps, and laugh yourself? Do you see how the devil has disposed us to be enemies and adversaries to ourselves? For once let us be sober, let us open our eyes, let us watch, let us lay hold on eternal life, let us shake off this long sleep. There is a Judgment, there is a Punishment, there is a Resurrection, there is an Inquisition into what we have done! The Lord comes in the clouds “Before Him,” he says, “a fire will be kindled, and round about Him a mighty tempest” A river of fire rolls before him, the undying worm, unquenchable fire, outer darkness, gnashing of teeth. Although you should be angry with me ten thousand times for mentioning these things, I shall not cease from mentioning them. For if the prophets, though stoned, did not keep silence, much more ought we to bear with enmities, and not to discourse to you with a view to please, that we may not, for having deceived you, be ourselves cut in sunder. There is punishment, deathless, unallayed, and no one to stand up for us. “Who will pity,” he says, “the charmer that is bitten by a serpent?” When we pity not our own selves, tell me, who will pity us? If you see a man piercing himself with a sword, will you be able to spare his life? By no means. Much more, when having it in our power to do well we do not do well, who will spare us? No one! Let us pity ourselves. When we pray to God, saying, “Lord, have mercy upon me,” let us say it to ourselves, and have mercy upon ourselves. We are the arbiters of God's having mercy upon us. This grace He has bestowed upon us. If we do things worthy of mercy, worthy of His loving-kindness towards us, God will have mercy upon us. But if we have not mercy on ourselves, who will spare us? Have mercy on your neighbor, and you shall find mercy of God Himself. How many every day come to you, saying, “Have pity on me,” and thou dost not turn towards them; how many naked, how many maimed, and we do not bend toward them, but dismiss their supplications. How then do you claim to obtain mercy, when you yourself dost nothing worthy of mercy? Let us become compassionate, let us become pitiful, that so we may be well-pleasing to God, and obtain the good things promised to those that love Him, by the grace and lovingkindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom, etc.