Grief

Christ and His cross are not separable in this life; nevertheless Christ and His cross part at heaven’s door, for there is no room for crosses in heaven. One tear, one sigh, one sad heart, one fear, one loss, one thought of trouble, cannot find lodging there. They are but the marks of our Lord Jesus down in this wide inn, and stormy country, on this side of death. Sorrow and the saints are not married together; or, suppose it were so, heaven would make a divorce.

He is truly wise who hates iniquity, who speaks the truth, and works the works of justice; and he that leads a sober and chaste life, who is pious, humble and devout, and who shuns the perilous rocks of temptation, possesses true wisdom, and the favor of God and of men. His conscience is pure—sorrow assails him not. Peace is his possession, and God often pours into his breast consolations that the world can neither know nor relish.

There is a useful sorrow, and a destructive sorrow. Sorrow is useful when we weep for sin, and for our neighbor’s ignorance, and so that we may not relax our purpose to attain to true goodness: these are the true kinds of sorrow. Our enemy adds something to this. For he sends sorrow without reason, which is something called acedia. We ought always to drive out a spirit like this with prayer and psalmody.