Ad eos qui magni aestimant opes

Homily 5. To those who think highly of present things and are vainly excited about the brilliant things of life. For angels, heaven is a place of joy, but the Church is for the faithful a lawful dwelling in place of heaven, bestowing pleasure on souls through the hearing of sacred chants. Once, the giver of blessedness declared Mary blessed as she hung upon this: "Mary," he says, "has chosen the beautiful portion, which will not be taken away from her." Only the profit of pious teaching is a good safeguard for us while living and accompanies us to the judge when dead; the possession of all other things is easily dissolved, not only because the grave is its successor, but because even before the grave there are countless shipwrecks of life. For we navigate the present life like a sea, which uses more violent collisions of waves. Wealth does not enjoy stable calm, but often sailing with a fair wind for its possessors, it is sunk by a sudden squall of trials. A throne is not the unshakable height of power; for sudden gusts of danger have uprooted prosperity, root and all. Health is not an uninterrupted gift, but unexpected harm from diseases lies in wait for it as well. The possession of well-being variously sheds its feathers, and man resembles a tree, at one time bearing the bloom of abundance, at another shedding its leaf like a tree. You will find nothing among the brilliant things of life that has decay as a neighbor, upon examination.

Thus the Creator has composed our life, dissolving the appetite of those who gape at the earth, and has yoked the brilliance of life to decay, so that when the pleasantness of earthly things charms you, the hope of the temporary may raise you up. For you have been appointed a traveler of the present age, not an owner, and we pass through the use of creation alone as that of an inn. For just as travelers, having enjoyed a brief stay in an inn, depart and complete the subsequent journey, so too, traveling through this age of life, having remained a short while in life as in a lodging, we depart from this dwelling. For God has prepared another life for us and has fashioned the present life as a road for the journey to that one, assigning the needs from creation only as provisions for the road. And when we have departed this road, the wealth of all possessions is unaccompanied; for nothing we have had have we had as our own. For the first garment we wear as our own, we have stripped from the nature of sheep; the shoes we put on our feet we have obtained from the hide of cattle; the supply of food and drink we gather from the bosom of the earth; gold, which we all clutch as our own, is also of it. Even kings collect pearls from oysters. We live and grow rich from foreign contribution. Return the wool to the sheep, and you will have no covering for your flesh; return their hides to the cattle, and you will find no privately owned covering for your feet; return the silk threads to the worms, and you will not bring forth a silk garment of your own.

But you will not even have a supply of your own souls, unless you flatter the earth that nourishes you in the way it loves. This is what Christ also indicated when he said, "If you were not faithful in what belongs to another, who will give you what is yours?" Do not boast to me of wealth from cattle and land, adorning yourself with what is not yours as if it were your own. You are the sole owner of only one possession: piety. Death, when it comes, will not rob you of this; but of all other things it will cast you out even against your will. For we have received all worldly possessions as a temporary holding, and only the use of them; each person departs enjoying them for a short time, carrying away from life a small grave. For this is the end of all prosperity, this is the conclusion of worldly goods. After a vast estate and many talents of gold, we inherit a narrow and foul-smelling coffin. Truly, "All flesh is grass, and all human glory is like the flower of grass." A slight onset of fevers scatters all the abundance of life; for medicine from outside applies its remedies, but death, wrestling invisibly with the remedies, advancing little by little, overpowers the sick man. And he, seeing the inescapable executioner pressing upon him and violently driving his soul toward departure, turns his head groaning from side to side and rolls his eyes with tears. But from nowhere is there help against the violence: neither the servants standing around the bed save him as he is dragged away, nor the tears of friends flatter death, nor does gold prevent the summons before the judge.

For death, the executioner, is unbribable, having no hand that yields to gold, nor does it ransom the dead for a price from the rich, but imprisons all in tombs as in prisons. Peep at the remains of the bones, and you will weep more bitterly at the vanity of life. The face is reduced to ash, blackened beyond soot; the eyes are perforated, carved out by decay; the mouth gapes open and often receives a passage for creeping creatures. Why do I linger over each limb? Worms, like some enemies, divide up the whole body, thoroughly searching out flesh, sinews, and veins. Rightly, then, the infant, peeping out from the womb, begins at once with lamentations, not with laughter; for it weeps as if denouncing life, from which it tastes the gifts of the dead from the very outset. For as soon as it is born, its hands and feet are swaddled, and, wrapped in bonds, it enjoys the breast, as a prelude to life, a forerunner of death. No sooner has the infant entered life than a garment of the dead is immediately brought to it. For nature reminds those who are born of the end; hence the child, when born, wails as if crying out to its mother through its lament: "Why, O mother, did you bring me forth to this life, in which the addition of living is a step toward death? Why did you bring me into this turbulent age, as if I were not born? What are these swaddling clothes for me? Why did you bring me into such a life, in which even youth is pitiable, plucked before old age, and old age is to be fled as leading to death? Terrible, O mother, is the stadium of life, having death as the turning post for those who run. Bitter is the road of life we travel, having the tomb as the lodging for those who journey.

We are sailing a difficult sea of life, for it has Hades as a pirate standing over it. Do I not denounce life as evil? For that is the disease of those named after madness. But I testify that one should not cling vehemently to what is temporary. Paul also, proclaiming this wretchedness of life, introduced the nature of creation groaning: "All creation," he says, "groans and is in travail until now." For all creation is full of gloom; and if you make a precise investigation of existing things, you will observe the particular groan in each. The first groan is sent up from humans, serving at the expense of corruption. The earth also groans with humans, having received the curse because of us. The sea laments, though originally made beautiful by God, but after sin found to be a tomb for many. The sun is gloomy, illuminating those who do not see its creator. The stars with the moon groan, because, while showing the peacemaker through their peaceful dance with each other, they do not persuade. Not even the race of beasts is without a groan, not only worn down by unavoidable servitude to us, but also slaughtered in vain in corners for demons. A common lament of creation from all sides, bewailing the state of present life, which the prophet has aptly called an image: "All things

For he says, "Vanity, every living human," yet indeed a human passes through in an image. And see the truth of the saying, having accurately examined human life. For just as in a picture a king sits on gilded thrones, and cities offer gifts in the colors, and the king's hand receives what is given, but all the visible things are shadow and stage-scenery, and when the linen is torn, the form is laid bare; in the same way, human nature, as if seated like a king in life as in a picture, receives the tributes from sea and land as if given from some cities, but when life is torn for it like a linen cloth, all the beauty of life has flowed away. And one of the greatest goods among humans is the humility of a crushed heart and the day that always practices death, on which, going out naked from this sea of life, we will see the pillars of our deeds paraded before creation. Do you want me to bring an example of this? On a certain merchant ship, some sailed together and, voyaging the same sea with one another, displayed various thefts against each other. The helmsman, watching these closely, did not for the time being parade the proof of the thefts; but when he saw the vessel approaching a harbor, he ordered all to go out naked from the ship, and found each one's theft lying in the ship. Consider this example of life for me: for life lies before us instead of a sea; and a ship has been fitted for the voyage, creation, using God as helmsman, and receiving all the cargoes of deeds.

If someone has traded in a corrupted life, he will deposit it in the vessel of creation; if he has managed a well-governed life, what has been done will be preserved for the judgment. Then, when the harbors of death draw near, the helmsman casts us naked from the earthly vessel, and the deed of all remains paraded in the judgment. Blamelessly, therefore, let us sail the sea of life; let us acquire creation as a witness of good works; let us surpass the shadowy boast of present things; let us remove our heart from mortal delight; let us flee from zeal that ends in corruption; let us not bind the soul with earthly snares; let us despise the flowing glory of mortals; let us spit upon the flower of transitory things as a easily washed-off dye; let us traverse life with heaven-bound prayer as a wing, we who travel the path of life and pursue the prize of the higher calling in Christ, to whom is glory for ever and ever. Amen.