Funeral homily for Meletius the Great, Bishop of Antioch

“Funeral oration for Meletius the Great, Bishop of Antioch” was pronounced by St. Gregory of Nyssa in Constantinople at farewell to St. Meletius of Antioch, a participant in the Second Ecumenical Council, who died in May 381. *The title of the work in Greek is ᾿Επιτάφιος εἰς Μελέτιον ἐπίσκοπον ᾿Αντιοχείας. *The title of the work in Latin is Oratio funebris in Meletium episcopum. We have a new apostle added to the number of apostles, numbered with the apostles, for the saints attracted to themselves someone like them in morals, ascetics - an ascetic, the crowned - the crowned, the pure in heart - the immaculate in soul, the servants of the word - the herald of the word. Our venerable father, now staying with the Apostles and having ascended to Christ, we are worthy of regret; for the prematureness of our orphanhood does not allow us to talk about the blessed lot of our father. For him it was incomparably better to “be resolved to be with Christ” (Phil. 1:23); but it is difficult for us to lose our fatherly guidance. For at this time advice is needed, but the adviser is silent. There is war all around us, war with heretics, but there is no military leader. The entire body of the church is suffering from illness, but we cannot find a doctor. See the state of our affairs! How I would like, having overcome, if it were possible, my weakness, at the same time to rise above the grave misfortune and utter a word completely worthy of such a loss, just as these valiant men did this, loudly mourning the misfortune of the loss of their father. But what will I do? How can I force my tongue, bound by misfortune, as if by some heavy bonds, to serve the word? How can I open my lips, struck by silence? How can I raise my voice, which is usually weakened by grief and tears? Can I see with the eyes of my soul, covered in the darkness of misfortune? Who will dispel this thick and dark cloud of sadness and from heaven again show me a bright ray of peace? And where will this ray shine from when the luminary is hidden from us? O miserable dark night, with no hope for the rising of the luminary? What a contrast we have in the present place between the speeches of the past and the present! Then we celebrated as if at a wedding feast; now we moan pitifully from grief; Then we sang a wedding song, now we sing a funeral song. For you remember that day when we celebrated a spiritual marriage with you, bringing a maiden into the house of a beautiful groom, and offered verbal gifts to the best of our ability, mutually amusing and having fun, and now our joy has turned into crying and the clothing of joy has become sackcloth. Wouldn't it be better to keep silent about the misfortune and hide the suffering in the heart with silence, so that, not having a bright wedding robe, but uttering gloomy words of sorrow, you would not strike the sons of the bridal chamber with sorrow? After the beautiful bridegroom was taken from us, we were all suddenly darkened with grief and it was indecent to speak brightly when envy (of the evil one) deprived us of our beautiful adornment. We came to you filled with blessings, but we leave you naked and poor. We had a lamp high above us, shining with abundant light; Now we carry it away extinguished, its shine has turned into smoke and ashes. We had this great treasure in a meager vessel; but this treasure was hidden from our sight; and a meager vessel, devoid of wealth, is reserved for those who gave it. What will we say, having let go of this treasure? What answer will those who demand it give? Oh, unfortunate shipwreck! How, being in the middle of the pier, did we have our hopes dashed? How did a ship, loaded with countless riches, sinking from its very cargo, leave us, who were once rich, naked? Where is that bright sail that has always been controlled by the Holy Spirit? Where is the reliable feeder of our souls, thanks to which we sailed comfortably among heretical worries? Where is that motionless anchor of our thoughts, holding on to which we rested with complete safety after our labors? Where is the excellent helmsman who guided the ship to a high goal? Is everything that happened already insignificant and am I in vain indulging in sadness? Or, rather, am I unable to fully portray grief, no matter how much I raise my voice when speaking about it? Cry with us, brothers, cry with tears of compassion. For when you rejoiced, and we shared your joy, now you too will provide us with this mutually sad service. “Rejoice with those who rejoice”: we did this; “Weep with those who weep” (Rom. 12:15): repay us with this. Once upon a time, a foreign people cried for the patriarch Jacob and took someone else's grief to heart as their own, when his children, carrying their father out of Egypt, publicly mourned his death in a foreign land and continued their mourning for him thirty days and the same number of nights (Gen. 50:3, 10-11). Brothers and fellow tribesmen, imitate foreigners. Both the aliens and the natives cried together then: let there be a common cry now, since we have a common misfortune. Look at these patriarchs: all these are the sons of our Jacob: they all came “from a free woman” (Gal. 4:22-24); there is not one of them illegitimate and anonymous: for it was not permissible for him to introduce a generation of slaves into the nobility of the faith. But he was also our father, because he was our father's father. You recently heard Ephraim and Manasseh talk about the exploits of our father so great and numerous that there were not enough words to describe his wondrous deeds. Let me also say a word about them: because now there is no danger of glorifying him; now I am not afraid of envy; for what further harm will she do to me? So now find out what kind of husband he was. Noble from the east of the sun, “blameless, righteous, true, godly, shun all evil things” (Job 1:1); for the great Job will not be jealous if we attribute to his imitator those wonderful properties that are attributed to him by the testimony of the word of God. But the envious man, looking angrily at everything beautiful, looked with hostility at our good and, having walked around the universe, came to us and brought sorrow into the midst of our well-being. It was not the herds of oxen and sheep that he destroyed, unless, in a mysterious sense, we understand the church by the name of the herd; It was not in this that the envious man harmed us, and it was not in the donkeys and camels that we suffered damage; It was not even by wounding the body that he upset our feelings, but he deprived us of our head; and with the head we lost the noblest organs of our senses. There are no more eyes that contemplate the heavenly; there is no more hearing listening to the Divine voice and this tongue dedicated to pure truth! Where is the attractive calmness of the gaze? Where is that bright smile of the lips? Where is that friendly right hand, which, with a blessing on its lips, moved and folded its fingers. But I am forced to solemnly proclaim our misfortune in front of everyone. I feel sorry for you, church; I appeal to you, city of Antioch. My condolences are with you about such a sudden change. How did you lose your beauty? How was your jewelry taken away? How did your color suddenly disappear? Truly “the grass is gone, and the flower is gone” (Is. 40:7). What evil eye, what evil envy has been directed at this church? What was and what has become? The source has dried up; the river dried up; The water turned into blood again. Oh, terrible news that announced suffering to the church! Who will tell children that they are orphans? Who will tell the bride that she has become a widow? O misfortune! What did they send and what did they receive? They sent the ark and received the coffin. Brothers! this man of God was an ark, an ark containing divine secrets. Here was a golden stash, full of divine manna, full of heavenly food; in it are the tablets of the Covenant, written on the tablets of the heart by the Spirit of the living God, and not with ink; for not a single dark and gloomy thought was imprinted on his pure heart; it had pillars, foundations, upper decorations, a censer, a candlestick, an atonement, lavers, entrance curtains; in him is the rod of the priesthood, vegetating in his hands. And if, as we know, there was something else in the ark, then all this was hidden in the soul of this man. But instead of all this, what do we have now? Let our word be silent. Pure shrouds and silk covers, an abundance of peace and aromas - a generous gift from a venerable and famous wife. May she be allowed to express her desire that she also have as a testimony what she did for the saint, pouring abundantly the alabaster of myrrh on the head of the saint. But what is preserved in these shrouds? Dead bones, which even before death were accustomed to deadness, are a sad monument to our misfortunes. Oh, what a cry will be heard again in Rama. Rachel cries not for her children, but for her husband and does not want to be consoled. Leave me, comforters, leave me! Don't try to console me. Let the widow weep bitterly. Let her feel the loss that she experienced, although she was not unprepared for separation, having previously become accustomed to enduring solitude during the exploits of this ascetic. You, of course, remember how the word spoken before us revealed to you the exploits of this man; how he, giving all kinds of honor to the Holy Trinity, honored her with a number of exploits, having withstood three battles of temptation. You have heard a consistent story about his labors, what he was like at the beginning, what he was like during the continuation, and what he was like at the end. I consider it unnecessary to repeat what has been said so well. But it may not be time to talk about this. When this honest church saw this man for the first time, she saw in him a face truly created in the image of God: she saw love flowing like a source; I saw grace coming from the lips; the highest degree of humility, higher than which nothing can be imagined; I saw the meekness of David, the intelligence of Solomon, the goodness of Moses, the justice of Samuel, the chastity of Joseph, the wisdom of Daniel, the zeal for the faith of the great Elijah, the purity of the body of the great John, the invincible love of Paul, I saw the collection of such virtues in one soul. His church, which loved her groom with pure and good love, was wounded by her blessed love for him. But before the desire was fulfilled, before the attraction calmed down, she, still burning with love, was left alone, because temptations called the fighter to heroic deeds. And he struggled for piety until he sweated; She, while maintaining her marriage, remained in chastity. Much time passed, and someone adulterously touched the clean bed. But the bride remained pure, and again there followed a return and again an exile. The same thing happened a third time, until the Lord, dispelling the heretical darkness and sending a ray of peace, gave hope for some rest from great labors. But after they saw each other and their chaste love and spiritual joys were renewed and passion was again inflamed, this last separation suddenly stops this joy. He came to adorn you like a bride and his labors were not in vain. He placed crowns of blessing on the beautiful couple. He imitated the Lord. As the Lord does in Cana of Galilee, so here too, imitator of Christ; for he filled the Jewish vessels, filled with heretical water, with whole wine, transforming nature by the power of faith; He often offered you a sober cup, abundantly pouring out grace to you in His sweet voice; often offered you a verbal feast. Blessing, he walked ahead of everyone, and these faithful disciples served the people, explaining his words. And we rejoiced, considering the glory of your family to be our own. How wonderful is what we have talked about so far, how good it would be to conclude our word with this! But what comes after this? “Call the mourners” (Jer. 9:17), says Jeremiah; for otherwise it is impossible to calm a burning heart, overflowing with suffering, unless you alleviate it with lamentations and tears. Then the separation was sweetened by the hope of return; now he has been separated from us by the last separation: a great abyss has established itself between him and the church; he rests in the bowels of Abraham, but there is no man who would bring a drop of water to cool the tongue of the mourners! This beauty perished, the voice fell silent, the lips closed, grace flew away; happiness has become a story (about the past). Elijah once caused grief to the people of Israel, flying from the earth to God; but then Elisha, adorned with the teacher’s mercy, rewarded the separation; now the wound cannot be healed; because Elijah was taken and Elisha was not left. Observe some of the sad and lamentable proclamations of Jeremiah, with which he mourns the desolate city of Jerusalem; among many other things with which he expresses his grief, he says the following: “the way of Zion weeps” (Pl. 1:4). What was said then has been fulfilled now. For when the rumor of misfortune spreads, then the paths will be filled with mourners and those who flock to them will flow along them, imitating the cry of the Ninevites in misfortune. But their grief is more painful than the last ones. For the sobs of some delivered from fear, while the tears of others do not give any hope of getting rid of misfortune. I also know other words of Jeremiah, from his song, included in the book of Psalms and composed on the occasion of the captivity of Israel; these are the words: “on both willows... our organs” (Ps. 136:2), having condemned both ourselves and our musical instruments to silence. I consider this song to be my own. For when I see heretical confusion (Babylon means confusion), and when I see temptations arising from this confusion; then I call these very rivers of Babylon, sitting near which we cry, because we do not have someone who would lead us across them. If you talk about willow trees and musical instruments hanging on them, then this parable also applies to us; for in truth our life is depicted by willows; The willow is a barren tree, and the sweet fruit of life has disappeared from us. And so we became barren willows, hanging the organs of love on the trees, idle and motionless. “If I forget,” he says, “you, Jerusalem, will my right hand be forgotten” (Ps. 136:5). Let me change what is written a little, because we are not the right hand, but the right hand has forgotten us. And the tongue, sticking to his own larynx, blocked the outcome of his speech, so that we would not hear that sweet voice again. But dry my tears for me; for I feel that, like a woman, I am mourning misfortune more than I should. The bridegroom is not taken away from us; he stands in our midst, although we do not see him. The priest is in the sanctuary, in the inner veil, “and Christ the Forerunner came for us” (Heb. 6:20); he left the veil of flesh; he no longer serves the likeness and shadow of the heavenly, but looks at the very image of things; not through a mirror and fortune-telling, but personally intercedes before God, interceding “for us and for the sins of ignorance of the people” (Heb. 9:7). He put off his “clothes of skin” (Gen. 3:21); for those who live in paradise have no need for this kind of clothing; but he adorned himself with the clothes that he wove with the purity of his life. “Honorable before the Lord is his death.” (Ps. 116:6); it is better to say, not death, but the breaking of bonds: for “thou hast torn apart,” says the Scripture, “my bonds” (Ps. 115:7). Simeon was released, freed from the bonds of the body; the net was broken, the bird flew away. He left Egypt, this material life; he crossed, but not that Red Sea, but this gloomy and dark sea of ​​life; he entered the land of promise; on the mountain he talks wisdom with God; took off the shoes of the soul in order to step with the pure foot of understanding onto the holy land where God is seen. Brothers! Having such consolation, you who carry the bones of Joseph to the land of blessing, listen to Paul’s instruction: “Do not grieve as others who have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13). Tell that people, tell them the good news, announce an extraordinary miracle: how, like the sea, countless people poured in from everywhere and formed one continuous mass, like water, flowing around a solemnly carried coffin; how the beautiful David, dividing himself into many parts and types, in a numerous formation, rejoiced near the tabernacle among people who spoke both different and the same language as him; like rivers of fire from one side and the other, flowing in a continuous row of lamps, spilled over a space immense to the eye. Tell us about the zeal of the whole people, how they shared honor with the Apostles; like wipers, his faces were divided into parts by the faithful, for their own protection. Let them add to the story how the king complains about misfortune and rises from the throne; how the whole city flocks to the solemn accompaniment of the saint. Comfort one another with such (speeches). Solomon heals sorrow well, for he orders wine to be given to those who mourn (Proverbs 31:6), saying this to us, the vine workers. So give your wine to those who mourn, not that which produces intoxication and darkens thoughts and has a harmful effect on the body, but that which gladdens the heart and which the prophet showed us when he said: “Wine gladdens the heart of man” (Ps. 103:15). Dissolve it in greater abundance and draw with the most capacious cups of spiritual word, so that your sorrow will again turn into joy and gladness, by the grace of the Only Begotten Son of God, through whom be glory to God and the Father forever and ever. Amen. You might be interested in: