Chrysostom
Beloved of All
You recall those days when you traveled at will, but consider: what was the end of such journeying? Often it was for gain, for pleasure, the service of mammon, who drives men across land and sea only to bind them with innumerable cords. Now your steps are hemmed in, not by your own choice, and this feels a heavy sorrow. Yet perhaps God in mercy has confined your body to free your soul for a greater voyage. The one who can live with little, who needs no conveyance or soft resting-place, is far greater than the one who demands many things for the road. Do not think that because you sit within walls your spirit cannot travel. The women of apostolic times were more spirited than lions: they went about not for sightseeing but sharing the apostles’ labors for the Gospel, facing dangers, spending themselves for others. You too can bestow much labor from this very chamber, by prayer, by teaching a seeking soul, by ministering to any who cross your threshold. That is a journey worthy of your remaining years.
The devil’s craft is to make us slumber with vain longings; but we travel the narrow way sober and watchful, with Jesus as guide. Wishing to mount up to heaven is not enough: we must put our hand to the work. And that work needs no long road, no boundless ocean crossed, no expense of money. It requires only a ready will, to cast off inordinate desires, to bridle the tongue, to flee youthful lusts. For the lust of travel, when it becomes a craving for what is past, is such a youthful lust, a wavering of a heart not yet deeply grounded. The space between youth and this present age is small enough, and harrassing cares already wither our feeling. Do not add to them by clinging to shadows.
Lift up your longing to the journey that ends in the royal city of heaven. There, you will never flag near the close, for the hope of our calling is walked out in good works extended to the dying day. Your confinement, borne with thanksgiving, may be the very mercy that delivers you from perils and sets you firmly on that path. So pray not merely to travel as in former days, but to travel as Paul did, in labors, in watchings, in sincere love for the brethren. Then shall your latter journey outshine the first, for it will be undertaken not for mammon but for the kingdom.
The devil’s craft is to make us slumber with vain longings; but we travel the narrow way sober and watchful, with Jesus as guide. Wishing to mount up to heaven is not enough: we must put our hand to the work. And that work needs no long road, no boundless ocean crossed, no expense of money. It requires only a ready will, to cast off inordinate desires, to bridle the tongue, to flee youthful lusts. For the lust of travel, when it becomes a craving for what is past, is such a youthful lust, a wavering of a heart not yet deeply grounded. The space between youth and this present age is small enough, and harrassing cares already wither our feeling. Do not add to them by clinging to shadows.
Lift up your longing to the journey that ends in the royal city of heaven. There, you will never flag near the close, for the hope of our calling is walked out in good works extended to the dying day. Your confinement, borne with thanksgiving, may be the very mercy that delivers you from perils and sets you firmly on that path. So pray not merely to travel as in former days, but to travel as Paul did, in labors, in watchings, in sincere love for the brethren. Then shall your latter journey outshine the first, for it will be undertaken not for mammon but for the kingdom.
