Letter 444: Theodore Studite, Letter 444; Greek heading: Εὐαρέστῳ τέκνῳ.

Out of much affliction and anguish of my heart, and let me add, out of tears as well, comes this letter, brother, because I have heard that you have died the death of sin. For they say that you have cast off the profession of virginity, the angelic garment, that way of life revered by both angels and men, and have taken a wife adulterously, or rather, to speak more properly, have taken Eve [the woman who, like Eve, leads to a fall]; for she, casting you out of the paradise of holy life, has set you as an occasion of mourning for me, your sinful father, and as a shame to your angelic brotherhood, and as exaltation and boasting for the devil. Oh, what has happened? Alas, how has the dragon [the devil] overpowered you, and into what an abyss of foul stench has he flung you? You who were light have become darkness; the fragrance of Christ has become a stench; the holy one is defiled, the honored one dishonored, the glorious one inglorious; the one untouchable [by the demon] has become the demon's prisoner bound hand and foot; the beloved is hateful; the sheep of Jesus has become prey to the beast (and let me add things still greater): the one persecuted for the sake of righteousness has been seized by sin; the confessor has become a denier; the one who bore blessedness upon his head as a diadem has been stripped of the wondrous name of monk. Woe is me, who that hears this would not groan, and who that ponders it would not shudder? You have shamed the monastic life, you have frightened those who stand firm, you have shaken those who are faltering, you have drunk the cup of iniquity, you have drawn those of your own rank, as far as in you lies, to taste of death. Oh, and again I say, what have you suffered, pitiable one? How have you, the morning star, been darkened? How have you, the useful vessel, been shattered? Are you not ashamed even at your own name, that, called Euarestos [well-pleasing], you have proved to be Dysarestos [ill-pleasing]? Did you not last year come to me, since you came also to my lord the archbishop, wholly sound, cheerful, eager, more a comforter and restorer on behalf of another brother of yours? How have you suddenly failed? How have you been blinded? How have you forgotten both God and us, and the ascetic labors and sweat you had already accomplished? For you were among the useful ones, and among those appointed to the higher services. And then what? A small assault of the enemy, a desire that has the appearance of sweetness but is wrapped about with a two-edged sword, than whose bitterness nothing is more full of gall, has gripped you and brought you down, as it were from heaven, from the lofty way of life, and displays you like one wounded, sleeping in a tomb. For what else is it to be in sin than to be in corruption? Surely there is no spiritual light there, no hope, no sweetness of soul, no holy reflection, but deep night, the closing of the faculty of thought, a gnawing of the heart, fear even of what chances to come, to be wallowing daily in the mire like some squirming creeping thing. Ah, ah, what has the demon wrought? What has the all-accursed desire made of you? Through it, from the beginning of the age, those who have been deceived have not even gained the things here below, but have lost the heavenly things as well, inheriting one thing only: the eternal fire. But come here, my son, be called back; I summon you from the depths of my heart, from a heart that burns within me, since your glory is mine, just as, conversely, is your shame. Come here, rouse yourself; the Lord has commanded it. "I will not remember," He says, "your iniquities"; and, "Does not he who falls rise again?"; and, "I have seen that you go about gloomy"; and, "I will heal your brokenness." Behold a good God, behold a merciful physician. Yes, I beg you, child (for you are my child, even if you have died), do not remain any longer in sin; rending, rend with haste the cords that have been woven about you by the devil, and, rising as if from a pit, leap across into the wondrous light of your former manner of life. And I will receive you with open hands, not reproaching but pitying you, not making heavy the remedies of repentance, but rather making them gentle and lightening them as far as may be. And indeed make haste, make haste, before the relentless angel comes upon you suddenly, pitiably separating you from your body and carrying you off to eternal judgment.