From: Theodoret, Bishop of Cyrrhus
To: Eugraphia
Date: ~440 AD
Context: A letter of consolation to a recently widowed noblewoman, urging her to grieve with the restraint that Christian faith demands.
To Eugraphia,
Had I not been unavoidably detained, the moment I heard that your great and distinguished husband had fallen asleep I would have come straight to your side. I have received many kindnesses at your hands and owe you a great debt of gratitude. When circumstances beyond my control prevented me from paying it, I thought it unwise to send a letter at the very height of your grief -- when no messenger could have reached you, and sorrow would have kept you from reading what I wrote.
But now that your reason has had time to wake from the intoxication of grief, to steady your emotions and discipline the excess of sorrow, I am emboldened to write and to beg your excellency to think on human nature -- to reflect on how common the loss you mourn truly is, and above all to accept what our faith teaches and not let your distress run beyond its bounds.
For your most excellent husband, as the Lord himself said, "is not dead but sleeps" [cf. John 11:11] -- a sleep merely a little longer than he was accustomed to. This is the hope the Lord has given us; this is the promise we have received from Scripture.
I know how painful the separation is -- how deeply painful. Especially so when affection has been strengthened by harmony of character and length of time together. But let your grief be for a journey to a far country, not for a life that has ended. This kind of wisdom is especially fitting for those raised in piety, and it is this wisdom, my honored friend, that I beg you to seek.
I do not offer this advice as one who feels nothing himself. My heart genuinely grieved when I learned of the departure of a man I loved so well.
Letter 69
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To Eugraphia.
Had I not been unavoidably prevented, I should no sooner have heard that your great and glorious husband had fallen asleep than I should straightway have hurried to your side. I have enjoyed at your hands many and various kinds of honour, and I owe you full many thanks. When hindered, much against my will, from paying my debt, I deemed it ill-advised to send you a letter at the very moment, when your grief was at its height; when it was impossible for my messenger to approach your excellency, and when grief prevented you from reading what I wrote. But now that your reason has had time to wake from the intoxication of grief, to repress your emotion, and to discipline the license of sorrow, I have made bold to write and to beseech your excellency to bethink you of human nature, to reflect how common is the loss you deplore, and, above all, to accept the divine teaching, and not let your distress go beyond the bounds of your faith. For your most excellent husband, as the Lord Himself said, is not dead but sleeps — a sleep a little longer than he was wont. This hope has been given us by the Lord; this promise we have received from the divine oracles. I know indeed how distressing is the separation, how most distressing; and especially so when affection is made stronger by sympathy of character and length of time. But let your grief be for a journey into a far country, not for a life ended. This kind of philosophy is particularly becoming to them that be brought up in piety, and it is of this philosophy that I beseech you, my respected friend, to seek the adornment. And I do not offer you this advice as a man labouring himself under insensibility; in truth my heart was grieved when I learned of the departure of one I loved so well. But I call to mind the Ruler of the world and His unspeakable wisdom, which ordains everything for our good. I implore your holiness to take these reflections to heart, to rise superior to your sorrow, and praise God who is the Master of us all. It is with ineffable providence that He guides the lives of men.
◆
From:Theodoret, Bishop of Cyrrhus
To:Eugraphia
Date:~440 AD
Context:A letter of consolation to a recently widowed noblewoman, urging her to grieve with the restraint that Christian faith demands.
To Eugraphia,
Had I not been unavoidably detained, the moment I heard that your great and distinguished husband had fallen asleep I would have come straight to your side. I have received many kindnesses at your hands and owe you a great debt of gratitude. When circumstances beyond my control prevented me from paying it, I thought it unwise to send a letter at the very height of your grief -- when no messenger could have reached you, and sorrow would have kept you from reading what I wrote.
But now that your reason has had time to wake from the intoxication of grief, to steady your emotions and discipline the excess of sorrow, I am emboldened to write and to beg your excellency to think on human nature -- to reflect on how common the loss you mourn truly is, and above all to accept what our faith teaches and not let your distress run beyond its bounds.
For your most excellent husband, as the Lord himself said, "is not dead but sleeps" [cf. John 11:11] -- a sleep merely a little longer than he was accustomed to. This is the hope the Lord has given us; this is the promise we have received from Scripture.
I know how painful the separation is -- how deeply painful. Especially so when affection has been strengthened by harmony of character and length of time together. But let your grief be for a journey to a far country, not for a life that has ended. This kind of wisdom is especially fitting for those raised in piety, and it is this wisdom, my honored friend, that I beg you to seek.
I do not offer this advice as one who feels nothing himself. My heart genuinely grieved when I learned of the departure of a man I loved so well.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.