645 S. JOANNIS CHRYSOSTOMI ARCHIEP. CONSTANTINOP. 616
[645] …but silence arises from difficulty. I have said these things so that, whether we write or remain silent, you may hold the same opinion concerning our love for you. For we, wherever we may be, having engraved your memory upon our mind, carry it about with us everywhere. And now we owe you great thanks, because you received the good monk with the benevolence that befits you, and you have rendered those who sought to contend with him unseasonably, more gentle. It was not, therefore, in vain that I said, nor by way of flattering you, that even if ten thousand waves arise from all sides, your affairs are in a calm. For those who so easily resolve shipwrecks for others, it is evident that you stand far away from the surges. Write to us, then, continually concerning your health; for you know how much we are concerned to learn of this. For your letters, which announce your vigor to us, possess such great power that even when surrounded by such terrible things—wars, tumults, disturbances, daily deaths—whenever we receive so many letters from you, we are both uplifted by the pleasure and reap the greatest consolation from them. For such is the nature of genuine love, that even through letters, those who possess such good news are able to easily restore those who are separated in body. A
LXVII. To Theodotus the deacon. (At Arabissus, it is thought, in the year 406.)
You, indeed, most honorable and devout master, have at least been delivered from the evils in Armenia, but as for us, along with the tumults here, or rather the daily deaths, it causes us no small grief to be separated from your sweetness and from your genuine and sincere disposition. And there has been another addition to this grief: your long silence since your arrival. For since you departed from here, we have received only this second letter; and I say this not to accuse, but in pain. For that the road leading here is impassable to travelers, no one is ignorant; but while this might be enough for your defense, it is by no means enough for our consolation; rather, we are particularly pained by this very thing, that we have been deprived of the consolation of your presence that remained to us. Since, therefore, it is not yet possible for this difficulty to be resolved, but daily the terrible things increase, I ask that you be comforted in another way for the despondency that arises in us from your long silence: by remembering us continually, and whenever you write, by making your letters longer, and by spending time on narratives concerning your health, cheerfulness, and safety. For thus you will be able to compensate for the time we have lost with the length of your letters. B
LXVIII. To the same.
This too is yours, as one who loves us most warmly and intensely. After reading the previous letter, I received a second, both on one day, and I was greatly pleased. For it had something more than the previous one, showing us not only your words, but also your letters; which has also made an addition to our pleasure, that we have seen with bounteousness the image of not only your warm and genuine soul, but also of your right hand. Do this, then, continually, and provide, with bounteousness, the consolation which you yourself have devised for us in this way. For we do not dare to entice you here at last; so great are the evils in Armenia, and a different winter has succeeded everything. For wherever one reaches, one will see torrents of blood, a multitude of dead bodies, houses razed, cities destroyed. And we seem to be in safety, as if in a wretched prison, shut up in this fortress; yet we are not able to enjoy security, because of the daily fears, because of the rumors full of deaths, because of the Isaurian incursion constantly expected, because of the weakness of body with which we are still struggling until now. But nevertheless, even being in such evils, and in such a situation, we reap no small consolation when we receive letters conveying the report concerning your health. [651] C
LXIX. To Nicolaus the priest. (At Arabissus, in the year 406.)
This too belongs to your genuine and warm love: even from so great a distance, to be trembling for our safety. For while we were previously changing from places to places in the very height of winter, now residing in cities, now in chasms and glens, being driven from all sides by the incursion of the Isaurians, at long last, when the evils here abated slightly, we left the wildernesses and ran down to Arabissus, having found the fortress therein safer than other regions (for we do not even reside in the city, since even this is not safe), while enduring a dwelling place worse than any prison. For with death, so to speak, at our doors every day, with the Isaurians attacking everything, and destroying both bodies and buildings with fire and sword, we also fear the famine, which the narrowness of the place and the multitude of those who have gathered here threaten to cause. And having endured a long infirmity that arose from the winter and the continuous flight, we have now escaped the worst of it, but still carry about a few remnants of it. Yet nevertheless, even while we are in such evils and such great predicaments, we reap the greatest consolation from your warm, genuine, and unshakeable love. Knowing these things, therefore, do not hesitate to convey to us continually the report concerning your health. For even if we sit at such a distance, yet we are bound to you with the chain of love with much precision. And I owe your honor much thanks, that even regarding the affairs in Phoenicia, and while being in such disturbances, you do not hesitate to make them known to us. For no one shows us such diligence. If, therefore, anything more should be announced from there, since no one dares to travel here quickly, as the roads…