Do you not know that the present life is a sojourn in a far country? For are you a citizen? Nay you are a wayfarer. Do you understand what I say? You are not a citizen, but you are a wayfarer and a traveler. Say not: I have this city and that. No one has a city. The city is above. The present life is but a journey. We are journeying on every day, while nature is running its course. There are some who store up goods on the way, and some who bury jewelry on the road. Now when you enter an inn do you beautify the inn? No, you eat and drink and hasten to depart. The present lite is an inn: we have entered it, and we bring the present life to a close. Let us be eager to depart with a good hope, let us leave nothing here, that we may not lose it there. When you enter the inn, what do you say to the serv-ant? Take care where you put away our things, that you do not leave anything behind here, that nothing may be lost, not even what is small and trifling, in order that we may carry everything back to our home. You are a wayfarer and traveler, and indeed more insignificant than the wayfarer. How so? I will tell you.

The wayfarer knows when he is going into the inn, and when he is going out; for the coming as well as the going is in his own power. But when I enter the inn, that is to say this present life, I know not when I shall go out. And it may be that I am providing myself storehouses with sustenance for a long time when the Master suddenly summons me saying,

“You fool, for whom shall those things be which you have prepared? For on this very night they are taking your soul from you” (Lk. 12:20). The time of your departure is uncertain, the tenure of your possessions insecure, there are innumerable precipices, and billows on every side of you. Why do you rave about shadows? Why desert the reality and run after shadows?

I say these things, and shall not cease saying them, causing continual pain and dressing the wounds. And this is done not for the sake of the fallen, but of those who are still stand-ing. For they have departed, and their career is ended, but those who are yet standing have gained a more secure position through their calamities. What then, you say, shall we do? Do one thing only, hate riches, and love your life—cast away your goods; I do not say all of them, but cut off the superfluities. Be not covetous of other men’s goods, strip not the widow, plunder not the orphan, seize not his house. I do not address myself to persons but to facts. But if any one’s conscience attacks him, he himself is responsible for it, not my words.

Saint John Chrysostom
HOMILY TWO, After Eutropios, having been found outside the church, was taken captive
On the Vanity of Riches