John Chrysostom

I ask you to consider the condition of the other life, so far as it is possible to consider it; for no words will suffice for an adequate description. But from the things which are told us, as if by means of certain riddles, let us try and get some indistinct vision of it. "Pain and sorrow and sighing," we read, "have fled away." What then could be more blessed than this life? It is not possible there to fear poverty and disease. It is not possible to see any one injuring or being injured, provoking or being provoked, or angry, or envious, or burning with any outrageous lust, or anxious concerning the supply of the necessities of life, or bemoaning himself over the loss of some dignity and power. For all the tempest of passion in us is quelled and brought to nothing, and all will be in a condition of peace and gladness and joy, all things serene and tranquil, all will be daylight and brightness, and light, not this present light but one excelling this in splendor as much as daylight is brighter than a lamp. For things are not concealed in that world by night or by a gathering of clouds. Bodies there are not set on fire and burned. For there is neither night nor evening there, nor cold nor heat, nor any other variation of seasons. But the condition is of a different kind, such as only they will know who have been deemed worthy of it. There is no old age there, nor any of the evils of old age, but all things relating to decay are utterly removed, and incorruptible glory reigns in every part. But greater than all these things is the perpetual enjoyment of relationship with Christ in the company of angels and archangels and the higher powers.