Let the wife make the husband glad to come home, and let him make

"Let the wife make the husband glad to come home, and let him make her sorry to see him leave." — so spoke Martin Luther, the great reformer whose wisdom was not confined to matters of faith alone, but extended also to the sacred harmony of human love. In these words lies a truth as old as creation itself: that marriage is not a battlefield of pride, but a sanctuary of tenderness, where two souls learn to give, to cherish, and to become one another’s joy. It is a covenant not merely of bodies, but of spirits — a lifelong dance between giving and receiving, between homecoming and farewell.

The meaning of this saying rests upon balance — the divine rhythm of affection and gratitude. When the wife makes her husband glad to come home, she turns the house into a refuge of warmth and peace, a place where he is not judged by the world’s burdens, but healed by love’s gentle hand. And when the husband makes his wife sorry to see him leave, it is not through power or possession, but through tenderness so deep that his absence leaves a quiet ache. Together, they create not just a home, but a kingdom of the heart, where devotion reigns as both duty and delight.

Luther spoke these words in the sixteenth century, an age of upheaval when faith and society were both being remade. He himself was once a monk, bound to celibacy, yet later married Katharina von Bora, a former nun of great spirit and wisdom. Their marriage became a living testament to his belief that love, when rightly ordered, is a holy thing — not a distraction from God, but a reflection of Him. They worked, prayed, laughed, and struggled together, and Luther often said that through Katharina’s steadfastness, he learned more of divine grace than through all his books. In their union we see the origin of his saying: it was born not from theory, but from the living fire of shared life.

In every age, we find examples of such sacred companionship. Think of Marcus Aurelius and Faustina, who stood beside one another through wars and empire. Or of Abigail Adams, whose letters to her husband John carried both counsel and comfort as he built a new nation. These were unions where love was not idle or ornamental, but active, forgiving, and faithful — a love that labored, endured, and gave meaning to the passing years. Such marriages do not happen by chance; they are forged through humility and honor, through the daily act of choosing each other anew.

The lesson of Luther’s words is simple yet profound: happiness in love is not found, but made. It is crafted by mutual service, by patience in small things, and by the courage to speak gently even when the heart is weary. The home should not be a place of escape from one another, but a harbor where both souls rest from the tempests of the world. When husband and wife each seek not to be loved, but to give love, joy returns to them multiplied, like light reflected between two mirrors without end.

Let no one mistake Luther’s wisdom as one-sided or bound by time. His counsel speaks equally to all who share their lives — to love in such a way that your presence brings peace, and your absence brings longing. To make another glad to come home is to fill their days with comfort and laughter. To make them sorry to see you go is to live with such tenderness that your very being becomes a blessing. This balance is the heart’s sacred art — the alchemy that turns ordinary days into a lifelong song.

Therefore, my child, if you would live in harmony with another soul, remember this: love is not sustained by passion alone, but by constancy, understanding, and the daily practice of gratitude. Speak kindly. Forgive swiftly. Celebrate the quiet joys of shared life. Be to one another both refuge and renewal. In doing so, you will fulfill the ancient command — to love and be loved in such a way that home itself becomes a reflection of heaven.

And when years have passed, and silver crowns your heads, may your love still be as Luther described — the wife making the husband glad to come home, and the husband making her sorry to see him leave — a circle unbroken, where affection endures even beyond the walls of time.