Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. (John 15.13)
Picture yourself in the death camp at Auschwitz. You’re standing in formation with all your fellow prisoners. The Nazis who run the camp offer a harsh disincentive to escape: for every inmate who breaks out of the camp the guards pick out ten other prisoners at random and starve them to death.
As it happens, there has been such an escape, and the prisoners have been called together for the purpose of choosing the ten. The guards finish selecting their victims, and before it even begins to sink in that you are not among those chosen for the starvation bunker you see one of those who were chosen break down, begging to be released because he’s a husband and father. What do you do . . . .?
Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. (John 15.13)
Picture yourself in the death camp at Auschwitz. You’re standing in formation with all your fellow prisoners. The Nazis who run the camp offer a harsh disincentive to escape: for every inmate who breaks out of the camp the guards pick out ten other prisoners at random and starve them to death.
As it happens, there has been such an escape, and the prisoners have been called together for the purpose of choosing the ten. The guards finish selecting their victims, and before it even begins to sink in that you are not among those chosen for the starvation bunker you see one of those who were chosen break down, begging to be released because he’s a husband and father. What do you do . . . .?
Merry Christmas, on this the 4th day of Christmas! The Holy Season is well upon us, and today we see it in all its complexity: we’re still singing carols and chiming bells, while at the same time recoiling from the horror of King Herod’s mass infanticide at Bethlehem, as commemorated in today’s Feast of the Holy Innocents.
Today’s feast reminds us not only of enormities committed against innocent life in our own day, but also that the baby lying in the wooden manger has escaped Herod’s wrath only so that he might die thirty years later on the wooden beams of the cross.
Holy Innocents and St. Anthony of Lerins
St. Anthony of Lerins
The Feast of the Holy Innocents is, of course, the chief liturgical observance in the Church today. There are any number of fine reflections on the witness of these tiny martyrs. See here and here, for example. Here also is my post from last year: Holy Innocents and the Saving Power of Christmas Carols.
This year I’m taking a different approach. As I observed in my recent posts on St. Servulus, St. Nicasius, and St. Anastasia, lesser observances are often overwhelmed during great celebrations such as Christmas and Easter. There are, in fact other saints commemorated today, whose memory can be completely buried under the combined weight of the Feast of the Holy Innocents and the ongoing celebration of the Nativity of Our Lord. One of these is St. Anthony of Lerins (also known as St. Anthony the Hermit). As we shall see, there are some interesting ways in which this saint’s story complements that of the tiny martyrs of Bethlehem.
The Attraction of Sanctity
As it happens, St. Anthony would probably be just as happy to be ignored, if his life here on earth is any indication. He born in the year 468 AD at Valeria in the region that the Romans had called Lower Pannonia, but which at this time was controlled by the Huns.
Fortunately, Christian life continued despite the hegemony of the pagan Huns. Anthony enjoyed the blessing of growing up among holy men. He lived for a time with St. Severinus of Noricum after his father died in Anthony’s ninth year. When St. Severinus himself died a few years later, Anthony moved to the household of his uncle Constantius, who was the bishop of Lorsch in what is now Bavaria. When he reached adulthood he became a hermit in the area of Lake Como in northern Italy.
As is often the case with holy hermits, his sanctity attracted a large number of followers. Seeking to recapture a little of the solitude for which he embraced the eremitical life, Anthony moved on yet again. Eventually, he settled in Lerins in France, where he spent his final two years on earth . . . and where the would-be recluse became famous (yet again!) throughout the district for sanctity and miracle-working.
In the story of St. Anthony of Lerins we see a couple of themes that connect him to today’s commemoration of the Holy Innocents, and to the Child in the manger in whose honor we are celebrating this entire liturgical season. St. Paul tells us in his Second Letter to the Corinthians:
[The Lord] said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. (2 Corinthians 12:9)
Thoughout Salvation History
Attila the Hun, by Eugène Delacroix, 1843-1847
We see God’s propensity to reveal his power in weakness throughout salvation history. The preeminent example is when the infinite Second Person of the Trinity, the Eternal Word, manifests himself in this world as a tiny baby lying in a feeding trough in a stable. We also see it in the helplessness of the Holy Innocents slaughtered at Bethlehem.
This propensity appears yet again in the life of a simple man who wanted nothing more than to live a life of holiness with his Lord. Isn’t it interesting that on this day when we commemorate the sacrifice of those children, and the sanctity of St. Anthony, the powers that loomed so large in their lifetimes are only dim memories. The power of King Herod, and of the Huns under whose rule Anthony was born, has long since crumbled, and their names have become little more than bywords for cruelty and violence.
It’s not that the power of the Herods, Huns, and other worldly tyrants has had no lasting effect. It’s just that their “power” doesn’t accomplish what they expect. St. Paul again provides us with the key when he says: “We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28)
What God Wills
We see this idea applied in the non-scriptural passage in today’s Office of Readings, a homily on the slaughter of the Holy Innocents by St. Quodvultdeus (his name means “What God wills” in Latin). Addressing King Herod our homilist says:
Yet your throne is threatened by the source of grace – so small, yet so great – who is lying in the manger. He is using you, all unaware of it, to work out his own purposes freeing souls from captivity to the devil. He has taken up the sons of the enemy into the ranks of God’s adopted children.
God makes all things work for the good of those who love him, including the evil machinations of wicked men like Herod. How much more so, then, the good things in the life of a holy man like St. Anthony of Lerins. God gives us his gifts not so much for our own sake, but so that we might use them in the service of others, to help free their souls, as the homilist above puts it, from captivity to the devil. St. Anthony was seeking a quiet life of prayer and contemplation, but God gave him the grace to desire such a life, and the power to perform miracles, so that he might sanctify the people among whom he was living. Let us all pray for the grace to embrace likewise God’s gifts to us, and to use them for Quod Deus Vult: What God Wills.
Featured Image top of page: The Massacre of the Innocents, by Sano di Pietro, c. 1470
An interesting note: at one time, the story of these poor murdered children itself inspired a large number of songs. The best known today (the only one, it appears, that is still regularly performed) is the “Coventry Carol” (lyrics below), dating from the 16th century. In the clip below Collegium Vocale Gent performs the song, with Peter Dijkstra conducting. The artwork in the video is Sano di Pietro’s 1470 painting “Massacre of the Innocents.”
Coventry Carol
1. Lullay, Thou little tiny Child, By, by, lully, lullay. Lullay, Thou little tiny Child. By, by, lully, lullay.
2. O sisters, too, how may we do, For to preserve this day; This poor Youngling for whom we sing, By, by, lully, lullay.
3. Herod the King, in his raging, Charged he hath this day; His men of might, in his own sight, All children young, to slay.
4. Then woe is me, poor Child, for Thee, And ever mourn and say; For Thy parting, nor say nor sing, By, by, lully, lullay. Lully, lulla, thou little tiny child, By by, lully lullay.
St. Stephen is the first Christian to follow Christ all the way. His feast is the first day after Christmas, of course. But we also call him the protomartyr, the First Martyr. He was the first to follow Christ all the way, to his own Calvary.
We’ve observed that the wooden manger, a couple of planks laid across two trestles, foreshadows the wooden beams of the Cross. If that’s a little too subtle an indication of what the incarnation is about, there’s this. On the Second Day of Christmas, when the dishes from Christmas dinner have hardly had time to dry and be put away, we celebrate the Feast of St. Stephen. He is the protomartyr, the first Christian to die for the Faith after the death of Christ himself. Could there possibly be a more jarring reminder that our Joy is not care-free? That Grace is not cheap? Or that the Nativity leads directly to the Crucifixion?
Full of the Spirit and of Wisdom
St. Stephen himself was one of the original deacons, who were chosen in the following way:
And the twelve summoned the body of the disciples and said, “It is not right that we should give up preaching the word of God to serve tables. Therefore, brethren, pick out from among you seven men of good repute, full of the Spirit and of wisdom, whom we may appoint to this duty. But we will devote ourselves to prayer and to the ministry of the word.” (Acts 6:2-4)
Despite being appointed “to serve tables”, Stephen, like his fellow Deacon Philip, was in fact also called upon to preach the word of God (Acts 7). This is what leads to his death. Here is St. Luke’s description of St. Stephen’s witness:
But he [Stephen], full of the Holy Spirit, gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God; and he said, “Behold, I see the heavens opened, and the Son of man standing at the right hand of God.” But they cried out with a loud voice and stopped their ears and rushed together upon him. Then they cast him out of the city and stoned him; and the witnesses laid down their garments at the feet of a young man named Saul. And as they were stoning Stephen, he prayed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” And he knelt down and cried with a loud voice, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” And when he had said this, he fell asleep.
And Saul was consenting to his death. (Acts 7:55-8:1)
The Power of Christ
St. Stephen’s story is a reminder that we all have different roles to play. All of us, however, are called upon to witness to the Gospel (μάρτυς, the Greek word from which we get the word martyr, means “witness”).
The very origin of that word shows us that the simple fact of being a witness to Christ provokes opposition. Sometimes strong, sometimes violent, opposition. But note the young man Saul (the future St. Paul, Apostle and Martyr), who looks on in approval. He may even be a leader or instigator of St. Stephen’s stoning. It’s possible that the example of the protomartyr helped to prepare him for his eventual conversion. Who knows, maybe the ferocity of his persecution of Christians between Stephen’s death and his own encounter with the risen Christ was borne of a desperate resistance to the gentle promptings that were stirring in his heart. In any case, we see that we should not be discouraged even by the strongest opposition. The power of Christ is stronger still. We need to do our part, and trust Him to do the rest.
Joy, Sorrow, and Glory
And so if we take the long view, commemorating the death of the First Martyr at this time is not at all strange. The Liturgical Calendar reminds us, on the Second Day of Christmas, that we need to embrace the Gospel in its entirety. The joy of the Nativity leads to the sorrow of Cavalry, which itself prepares the way for the still greater glory of Easter. As St. Peter puts it:
There is cause for rejoicing here. You may for a time have to suffer the distress of many trials; but this is so that your faith, which is more precious than the passing splendor of fire-tried gold, may by its genuineness lead to praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ appears. (1 Peter. 1:6-7)
Featured image top of page: The Stoning of St. Stephen by Rembrandt Van Rijn, 1625
The power of love is one of the most powerful gifts that Christ shares with his followers.
Now, it’s true that it’s hard to live as a Christian publicly these days. And, yes, it’s likely to get worse. The lives of the martyrs remind us that there have been Christians (and still are in many parts of the world) who suffer much, much worse things than we do today in the United States.
Today’s saint, St. Julia of Corsica (also known as St. Julia of Carthage), is a good example. St. Julia was a 5th century martyr who refused to be seduced by personal gain or cowed by the threat of torture and death. I published my first post about St. Julia eight years ago. It became one of the most popular pages on my original blog, a testimony to the timelessness (and the timeliness) of this saint. A testimony, in other words, to the power of love.
St. Julia’s story throws an interesting light on the situation in which we find ourselves today. Her story starts in Carthage in the 5th century, where she was born into a noble family. When the Vandals captured and sacked that ancient city, Julia fell into the hands of slave traders. A Syrian merchant named Eusebius purchased her. Despite the hardships and humiliations of her servile state she remained content. More than that, she was cheerful because of her piety and her deep love of Christ. These same qualities greatly endeared her to her master.
Love for the Lord
On one occasion, when Julia was on a journey with her master, he stopped at the island of Corsica where the locals were celebrating a pagan festival. Eusebius joined in the revelry; Julia, needless to say, stayed away. Her refusal to participate greatly annoyed the local governor, a man called Felix. According to the account in Butler’s Lives of the Saints, Felix
asked who this woman was who dared to insult the gods. Eusebius informed him that she was a Christian, and that all his authority over her was too weak to prevail with her to renounce her religion, but that he found her so diligent and faithful he could not part with her.
This governor, however, was not one to take no for an answer. First, he offered Eusebius four of his own female slaves in exchange for the one Julia. Eusebius, however, emphatically refused to surrender her. Next, after her master had fallen asleep, the governor approached Julia directly, offering to free her if only she would sacrifice to the pagan gods. She answered that she was “as free as she desired to be as long as she was allowed to serve Jesus Christ.” Felix fell into a rage at this answer, and then he tortured and crucified her. Neither the bribes nor the threats of the governor could overcome Julia’s love for her Lord.
“The blood of the Martyrs is the seed of the Church.”
-Tertullian
The Seed of the Church
Needless to say, St. Julia paid a much higher price for her faith than mere cancellation from social media. Let’s look at a few points that stand out from the account of her life. First and foremost, Julia’s devotion to Christ and her courage in the face of unspeakable suffering is an inspiration to us. Maybe I’ll remember that the next time I’m feel the temptation to “go along with the crowd.” Maybe when I’m afraid of the disapproval or verbal abuse of others, I’ll take some strength from Julia’s fortitude in the face of much, much worse persecution.
Julia also shows us the power of example. Clearly, her character and virtue made a large impression on her master Eusebius. It’s true that her diligence and fidelity alone were not enough to win him over to the faith, at least not right away. On the other hand, they did give him the courage to stand up to the governor Felix. In fact, the virtues she gained from her faith convinced him not to give her up for, literally, any price.
None of the accounts I have seen, unfortunately, tell us anything about what eventually happened to Eusebius. One wonders whether the example of her heroic martyrdom was finally enough to make him a Christian. We do know that the witness of the martyrs was crucial to the conversion of very many people. The fruitfulness of that witness inspired Tertullian to say: “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church.”
A Saint for Our Time
Julia’s story also tells us something about the nature of sin. It brings to mind Father Richard John Neuhaus’ aphorism: “When orthodoxy becomes optional, sooner or later it will become proscribed”. Simply doing the right thing, in other words, looks like a rebuke to those who are doing the wrong thing. Look at Julia: she wasn’t interfering with the pagan festival, she was simply staying away. The governor, however, couldn’t tolerate anyone who was not actively endorsing his activities.
How often have we seen this same attitude today. We can see that the advocates of a “New Orthodoxy” will certainly try to destroy the reputation and livelihood of anyone who does not publicly cheer for their moral and societal innovations. Of course, at least in the United States, nobody is literally suffering crucifixion.
Nevertheless, the consequences of trying to live a Gospel life are real. The list of people runs from celebrities on down to ordinary people including school counselors and college professors and students. They have been “cancelled” merely for stating their adherence to things that were considered to be common sense up until the day before yesterday. We all know about the weak-kneed corporations giving into leftist bullying. Within the last couple of years we have seen communications monopolies such as Twitter, Facebook, and the rest become bolder than ever in their attempts to shut down speech that doesn’t adhere to the politically correct point of view.
Newspeak vs. The Eternal Word
Regarding which situation, look at the stances that draw the most fire from the Woke Cancellation Mob. They are not only things that virtually everyone has traditionally taken for granted. They are also matters of clear Catholic teaching. Consider the following questions from then Senator, now Vice President (!) Kamala Harris directed toward judicial nominee Brian C. Buescher. Mr. Buescher, it seems, belonged to what Senator Harris and Senator Mazie Hirono characterized as an “extremist” organization:
“Were you aware that the Knights of Columbus opposed a woman’s right to choose when you joined the organization? . . . Were you aware that the Knights of Columbus opposed marriage equality when you joined the organization?”
Of course, in the Orwellian language of the left, “a woman’s right to choose” means unfettered legal abortion. Likewise , “marriage equality” is newspeak for redefining marriage to include same sex couples. The senators, therefore, were berating Buescher for the simple fact of adhering to Catholic doctrine.
The Dogma Lives Loudly
Justice Amy Coney Barrett is sworn in at her nomination hearing.
This was not an isolated incident. A year earlier, Senator Dianne Feinstein in a similar way confronted judicial nominee (and eventual Supreme Court Justice) Amy Coney Bryant. Bryant is also a Catholic. Feinstein disapprovingly pronounced, “the dogma lives loudly within you.” In other words, if you’re a believing Catholic, you’re not fit to be a federal judge. The year after Harris’s grilling of Buescher, Senator Cory Booker followed the same script. He demanded of Neomi Rao, another nominee for a federal judgeship (and in her case a convert to Judaism) “whether you believe it is sinful for two men to be married?”
The Constitution’s explicit ban on “religious tests” for office did nothing to deter these prominent politicians. Likewise, no fear of electoral backlash restrained their overt shows of anti-religious bigotry. Tellingly, at the time two of them were actively seeking the presidency.
Wrong at the Roots
Given that, it should come as no surprise that the administration in which former Senator Harris now serves has promulgated a rule denying conscience protection to Catholic and other doctors morally opposed to “gender reassignment” surgery. Likewise, it is promoting the so-called “Equality Act,” which would force pro-life doctors to perform abortions.
We should not conclude from the examples above that this is primarily a political problem: as we have seen before (hereand here, for instance), politics is an outgrowth of things going on at deeper levels in society, in the culture and, more fundamentally still, on the religious level. Politics reflects changes that have already taken place on those deeper levels, and if major national politicians believe that they can get away with such overtly anti-Christian behavior (and why shouldn’t they? It’s worked so far), something has already gone very wrong at the roots.
An Alternate Religion
In fact, aggressive secularism has not only taken over the culture, but has also taken on the the role of an alternate religion. It is now fighting traditional Christian belief for possession of the deepest foundations of our society. The secularists can draw on their cultural influence to acquire political power, and then in turn use their political gains to protect what they have won on the other levels. As Austin Ruse said in an essay published on the Crisis website last year:
Catholics and other Christians must understand that we are not merely up against a new faith but a new faith that is an established Church backed by the power of the federal, state, and local governments.
Like St. Julia, simply by believing in orthodox Christianity and following its precepts, we are seen as a threat by that rival faith.
More Precious Than Gold Tested By Fire
But, of course, that’s not the end of the story. Christ sent the Holy Spirit down on his Church at Pentecost, the Church against which, he had promised Peter, the “Gates of Hell” would not prevail (Matthew 16:17) . . . but he had also promised persecution (Matthew 5:11). The Persecution was not long in coming. The same Peter who boldly addresses the wondering crowds on Pentecost will soon be writing to the early Christians:
In this you rejoice, though now for a little while you may have to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith, more precious than gold which though perishable is tested by fire, may redound to praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.(1 Peter 1:6-7)
Granted, the sort of harassment Christians face in the secular West does not come close to that faced by the Early Church or by martyrs like St. Julia . . . yet. We can’t say the same for much of the Islamic world, where Christians face tremendous violence or, increasingly, in communist China. We are kidding ourselves if we think it can’t happen here. At the same time, throughout the history of the Church we have seen that even the most zealous persecutors can sometimes experience conversion. From St. Paul himself through the Nazi death-camp guards who were awed by the martyrdom of St. Maximilian Kolbe, the faith and Christ-like serenity of their victims can win apparent enemies for Christ.
Sharing in Christ’s Sufferings
The ancient accounts don’t tell us, but St. Julia’s master Eusebius, or even the governor Felix, might well have been among these converts. Whether or not St. Julia’s martyrdom moved them in this way, we can be sure that she did move many of the other pagan witnesses.
Finally, the times are dark, but be of good cheer. The example of St. Julia of Corsica is a reminder that, although there will always be defeats along the way, Christ wins in the end. If we can put our Hope in His promise and rely on the support of the Holy Spirit, as Julia did, we can persevere. As St. Peter said: “Rejoice in so far as you share Christ’s sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed” (1 Peter 13).
Christ and the Adulterous Woman,by Nicholas Poussin, 1653
“Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then should the scriptures be fulfilled, that it must be so?” (Matthew 46: 53-54)
Legions of Angels
Many Years ago I taught in a (more or less) Catholic high school. One day a certain student wanted to know how many soldiers were in a Roman legion. Around 6,000, I answered. “Well,” he offered, “Jesus said that if he asked, his Father would send him twelve legions of angels.” I acknowledged that he had (see Matthew, 26:53). The student’s face then broke into a huge grin as he blurted out, “That’s a whole lot of angels!”
I wasn’t sure at the time, and I’m unsure still more than two decades later, what my student was getting at. Was he making a joke of some sort? Did he really admire Christ’s power to command the hosts of Heaven? I do know that Jesus was serious. His point wasn’t the exact number of angels he could summon. Now, I’m sure that the number twelve is meant to correspond to the twelve tribes of Israel, the twelve apostles, etc., but that’s secondary. Christ’s immediate point was that he had all the power he could want. He had the power to save Himself . . . if he chose.
How Then Should The Scriptures Be Fulfilled ?
The Arrest of Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane, studio of Giuseppe Cesari, c.1600
It will be helpful to look at the context for the comment about legions of angels. Jesus’ affirmation of his authority over angelic armies comes during Matthew’s Passion Narrative. He is in the Garden of Gethsemane with his Apostles. At that moment Judas arrives, “and with him a great crowd with swords and clubs, from the chief priests and the elders of the people” (Matthew 26:47). Judas identifies Jesus with a kiss,
Then they came up and laid hands on Jesus and seized him. And behold, one of those who were with Jesus stretched out his hand and drew his sword, and struck the slave of the high priest, and cut off his ear. Then Jesus said to him, “Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword. Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then should the scriptures be fulfilled, that it must be so?” (Matthew 46: 50-54)
Jesus surrenders willingly to the violent mob, not because he can’t free himself, but because he chooses to surrender. He allows the crowd to take him, knowing that it means an agonizing death by crucifixion.
The Passiontide
This is a good time to talk about the Passion of Jesus, by the way, because we are now in that part of the Liturgical Year that we call the Passiontide. This is the last two weeks of Lent, when we focus our Lenten observance more explicitly on the suffering and death of Jesus. The transition to Passiontide, unfortunately, is no longer as obvious as it was when we called the Fifth Sunday Passion Sunday. The TLM still follows the the traditional practice; in the ordinary form, however, Passion Sunday has now moved one week later to combine with Palm Sunday.
While it may not be as obvious as in the traditional arrangement, the liturgy is still pointing us more directly in the direction of events of the Triduum. Consider the Gospel reading for this past Sunday, the Woman Caught in Adultery from John’s Gospel (John 8:1-11). As in the Passion narrative we have a violent mob, eager for blood. The difference is, here Jesus does frustrate the crowd’s murderous designs, and he does it without so much as a single cohort of angels.
The Guilty And The Innocent
King of Sorrows,by William Burton Shakespeare, 1897
That’s not the only difference between the two passages. Isn’t it interesting that the woman Jesus saves really is guilty: she was caught in the act. Jesus himself, on the other hand, is totally without sin, and yet he allows himself to be taken. In fact, it is because of her sin (and mine, and yours) that Jesus surrenders his own life.
That doesn’t make sense, without the eyes of faith. But of course, “the wisdom of this world is folly with God” (1 Corinthians 3:19). And in fact, that surrender of his own innocent life is an act of power greater than anything the “wisdom” of this world can imagine. All the legions of angels together can’t match its power. For the sake of sinners such as the adulteress (and me, and you), Jesus Christ conquered Death.
Yes, Christ has freed us from death. The freedom he purchased for us by his own free choice, however, has a purpose. After he tells the woman, “Nor do I condemn you” Jesus adds, “Go and sin no more.” Our liberty in Christ isn’t license. He didn’t suffer and die on the cross in order to enable us to continue our lives of sin. He gave us freedom so that we, too, might freely choose the good. It’s an awesome gift, and an awesome responsibility.
This coming Sunday we will celebrate Palm Sunday and Passion Sunday. Over the week that follows we will relive the events of the Passion and Death of Jesus Christ. Let’s remember that, if he chooses, Jesus can ask his Father for twelve legions of angels. Instead, Jesus chooses to suffer and die: not because he’s guilty, but because we are.
Merry Christmas! Today we celebrate the 5th Day of Christmas, and also the martyrdom of St. Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury.
It’s striking how many martyrs’ feast days we observe during the Christmas season: St. Stephen on the 2nd Day of Christmas, The Holy Innocents yesterday; on Christmas Day itself the Church used to celebrate a second mass, not for the Nativity, but for the martyr St. Anastasia. Today, on the 5th Day of Christmas, we find ourselves celebrating yet another martyr, St. Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, murdered by knights in the service of King Henry II of England on December 29th, 1170.
St. Thomas has attracted the attention of numerous authors over the years: the pilgrims in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales are journeying to his shrine; Jean Anouilh wrote a play about him, Becket, which became a successful film starring Peter O’Toole and Richard Burton; Becket’s martyrdom is the focus of T.S. Eliot’s play Murder in the Cathedral, and the saint has appeared in not a few novels.
Peter O’Toole as King Henry II (l) and Richard Burton as Thomas Becket (r) in the 1964 film Becket
In Eliot’s play the soon-to-be-martyred archbishop delivers a Christmas homily in which he discusses this (seemingly) odd juxtaposition between the joy of the Nativity and the mourning of martyrdom:
Not only do we at the feast of Christmas celebrate at once our Lord’s Birth and His Death: but on the next day we celebrate the martyrdom of his first martyr, the blessed Stephen. Is it an accident, do you think, that the day of the first martyr follows immediately the day of the Birth of Christ? By no means. Just as we rejoice and mourn at once, in the Birth and the Passion of Our Lord; so also, in a smaller figure, we both rejoice and mourn in the death of martyrs . . . So thus as on earth the Church mourns and rejoices at once, in a fashion that the world cannot understand; so in Heaven the Saints are most high, having made themselves most low, and are seen, not as we see them, but in the light of the Godhead from which they draw their being.
Eliot’s Becket here is echoing St. Paul, who tells the Corinthians that “the wisdom of this world is folly before God” (1 Corinthians 3:19). Becket himself enjoyed quite a bit of success, in the eyes of the world, prior to becoming archbishop: he was a close companion to King Henry II, and the king’s Chancellor. Henry nominated Thomas to be Archbishop of Canterbury in the hopes that he would subordinate the Church in England to the interests of the Crown. Instead, Becket threw away all the advantages that his friendship with the king brought him and became a champion of the independence of the Church from the Crown. He also seemed to embrace the spiritual life wholeheartedly, surrendering many of the comforts he could legitimately claim as archbishop and giving lavishly to the poor. Some people, at the time and since, have doubted the sincerity of his conversion, but others accepted it as genuine, and it’s undeniable that Becket had numerous opportunities to compromise with the king, and so save his life, if he had chosen to do so. The validity of his conversion received further support when the monks who prepared his body discovered that he had been secretly wearing a penitential hair shirt under his episcopal vestments.
The Penance of King Henry II at the Tomb of Thomas Beckett, by Samuel Seeberger 1898-1899
In recent years, as government and other powerful social institutions have been encroaching more and more menacingly on the Church, Christians have been turning increasingly to St. Thomas Becket (as well as St. Thomas More, another Thomas martyred by another King Henry three and a half centuries later) as inspiration and intercessor. We do well to remember that both Thomases lost their worldly battles against their respective Henries. And while it is true that Henry II did public penance for the murder of St. Thomas Becket just three years after the fact, Henry VIII never looked back after the execution of St. Thomas More. He never showed any remorse for the seizure or destruction of all the Catholic Church’s properties in England (including the very intentional destruction of both the shrine to St. Thomas Becket in Canterbury and of the saint’s human remains housed there as relics). Henry shed no tears at the eradication of the Catholic Church itself in his kingdom, and the British Monarch is still the head of the Church of England to this day.
The point is not that we shouldn’t fight to defend the Faith and the Church: we should fight with all our strength, calling upon the intercession of St. Thomas Becket and all the saints to help us. We cannot, however, pin our hopes on achieving victory over the temporal powers of this world. Thomas Becket is not a Saint because he defeated Henry II, but because he overcame the enormous temptations of power and comfort in this world and remained faithful to Christ, even in the face of certain death.
Which brings us back to where we started – the intimate connection between Christmas and martyrdom. In the Feast of the Nativity we celebrate the birth of Our Savior, who was born expressly to die on The Cross, defeated (apparently) by the temporal powers of the day. Whether or not we win our battles against the Henries, Herods, and Pilates of this world (the wisdom of this world, remember, is folly), the battles that really matter in the long run are not “against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the world rulers of this present darkness, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places” (Ephesians 6:12). We celebrate the birth of Christ not because he has conquered Caiaphas or Tiberius Caesar (both of whom, after all, death destroyed centuries ago) but because he has “abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel” (2 Timothy 1:10).
So, again, Merry Christmas! Gaudete, Christus natus est! St. Thomas Becket, pray for us!
Featured image top of page: St. Thomas Becket, by Meister Francke, 1424
Music for Christmas
One of our most well-known Christmas hymns is “Adeste Fideles,” in English “O Come All Ye Faithful.” Despite the fact that it was originally composed in Latin, it is not ancient. It was first published in 1751 by English Catholic John Francis Wade. We don’t know whether Wade composed the hymn himself, or was simply circulating the work of another composer which he had discovered in a library (which he is known to have done with other pieces). The most familiar English version was translated from Latin by the English Catholic priest Frederick Oakely in 1852.
I’m sorry to say that I can’t tell you who performs the beautiful rendition of “Adeste Fideles” in the clip below. it was posted to Vimeo by Piccole Note 5 years ago.
Adeste fideles læti triumphantes, Venite, venite in Bethlehem. Natum videte Regem angelorum: Venite adoremus (3×) Dominum.
Deum de Deo, lumen de lumine Gestant puellæ viscera Deum verum, genitum non factum. Venite adoremus (3×) Dominum.
Cantet nunc io, chorus angelorum; Cantet nunc aula cælestium, Gloria, gloria in excelsis Deo, Venite adoremus (3×) Dominum.
Ergo qui natus die hodierna. Jesu, tibi sit gloria, Patris æterni Verbum caro factum. Venite adoremus (3×) Dominum.
O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant! O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem; Come and behold him Born the King of Angels: O come, let us adore Him, (3×) Christ the Lord.
God of God, light of light, Lo, he abhors not the Virgin’s womb; Very God, begotten, not created: O come, let us adore Him, (3×) Christ the Lord.
Sing, choirs of angels, sing in exultation, Sing, all ye citizens of Heaven above! Glory to God, glory in the highest: O come, let us adore Him, (3×) Christ the Lord.
Yea, Lord, we greet thee, born this happy morning; Jesus, to thee be glory given! Word of the Father, now in flesh appearing! O come, let us adore Him, (3×) Christ the Lord.
Good King Wenceslas looked out On the Feast of Stephen When the snow lay round about Soft and crisp and even
Merry 6th Day of Christmas! The Christmas Season abounds with all nature of celebrations and observances. As we observed in yesterday’s post on the Memorial of St. Thomas Becket, a (perhaps surprisingly) large number of those observances involve martyrs. We usually celebrate the Feast of St. Stephen, the very first Christian martyr, on December 26th, immediately after Christmas Day. This year, however, St. Stephen’s memorial was suppressed because the 2nd Day of Christmas was a Sunday, so we instead observed the Feast of the Holy Family.
And yet, yesterday we heard St. Thomas Becket (as depicted by T. S. Eliot in his play Murder in the Cathedral) expound on how appropriate it is that St. Stephen’s day is the very first thing we encounter after the joy of Christmas Day itself. Not only that, St. Stephen happens to have a connection, through a well-known Christmas song, to another martyr, St. Wenceslas of Bohemia. Given all that, it seems appropriate to pay a visit to Saint Stephen (and St. Wenceslas) at some point during the Octave of Christmas, even if his usual day has been pre-empted.
Aside from the story of his martyrdom as described in the Acts of the Apostles (chapters 6-7), St. Stephan’s name is known from the Christmas carol “Good King Wenceslas.” The song does not actually tell us anything about Stephen himself: it describes instead how Good King Wenceslas goes out on the saint’s day, in an act of Christian charity, to share his Christmas bounty with a lonely and poverty-stricken old peasant. And, whether or not the incident recounted in the song ever happened, Wenceslas himself was real. He is based on Wenceslas I, Duke of Bohemia (the title of king was conferred on him posthumously after his death in 935 AD by Holy Roman Emperor Otto I). Wenceslas’ grandfather was the first Christian duke of Bohemia, but it was Wenceslas himself who firmly established the Church there in the face of still strong pagan opposition, and aligned the church in his homeland with the Holy See in Rome.
St. Wenceslas Monument, Prague (photo from bohemia-apartments.com)
St. Wenceslas, then, marks the beginning of Christianity among the Czechs. Likewise, St. Stephen’s feast is at the start of the Christmas season, and St. Stephen himself at the very beginning of Christianity, period. He was, in fact, the first Christian to give his life for the Faith after Christ himself, for which reason he is known as the protomartyr, that is, first martyr. We find a vivid account of his death in the Acts of the Apostles:
But he [Stephen], full of the Holy Spirit, gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God; and he said, “Behold, I see the heavens opened, and the Son of man standing at the right hand of God.” But they cried out with a loud voice and stopped their ears and rushed together upon him. Then they cast him out of the city and stoned him; and the witnesses laid down their garments at the feet of a young man named Saul. And as they were stoning Stephen, he prayed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” And he knelt down and cried with a loud voice, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” And when he had said this, he fell asleep. And Saul was consenting to his death.(Acts 7:55-8:1)
Detail from The Stoning of St. Stephen, by Giacinto Gimignani, 17th century
Just as our Christmas joy is tempered by the realization that the child lying in the manger must someday hang on the Cross, St. Stephen reminds us, a mere day after the Feast of the Nativity itself, that following the Child of Bethlehem can mean our own Calvary. Jesus himself tells us: “Blessed are you when men revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account” (Matthew 5:11). How is it, then, that his coming is “Good news of great joy” (Luke 2:10)? Because, as our Lord goes on to say, “Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so men persecuted the prophets who were before you” (Matthew 5:12). Indeed, as we see in the account above from the Acts of the Apostles, St. Stephen doesn’t go to his death wailing and gnashing his teeth at the cruelty and injustice of it all, but gazing joyfully on his Savior in Heaven, and begging for forgiveness for his persecutors. Countless martyrs since have done the same, up to the present day. Christ our Savior didn’t come to save us from unpleasantness in this world, but instead to save us for eternal happiness with him in the next, by rescuing us from our own sin.
Which brings us back to Good King Wenceslas, who has more in common with St. Stephen than we might at first realize. It’s true that he established a strong foundation for the Church, and exhibited exemplary personal piety and charity; it is also the case that not everyone appreciated those qualities, including other nobles still sympathetic to paganism. His own brother Boleslav was one of these, and treacherously murdered him.
At the time, it must have seemed that Wenceslas was the loser, and that his scheming brother had won, just as St. Stephen seemed to be vanquished by his persecutors. Today, however, over one thousand years later, Good King Wenceslas is still loved by the Czechs, and remembered as one of the founders of their nation, while his brother carries the odious sobriquet Boleslav “the Cruel.” Of more significance than his worldly reputation is the fact that Wenceslas is remembered by the Church as Saint Wenceslas, Martyr, whose feast we celebrate on September 28th. Saints Stephen and Wenceslas stand together among the “white-robed army of martyrs” whom we see in the ancient prayer known as the Te Deum, gathered before the throne of God, praising their Creator, and interceding for all of us.
Boleslav kills St. Wenceslas (image from www.prahafx.ru)
“Good King Wenceslas” is considered a Christmas carol, although it does not seem to have any direct reference to the Nativity of Our Lord. It does, however, encourage us to emulate the saints, such as Stephen and Wenceslas, who conformed themselves to Christ, especially as exemplars of Christ’s love [see St. Fulgentius of Ruspe’s sermon from the Office of Readings for the saint’s day: St. Stephen – The Armor of Love]. The words with which St. Wenceslas encourages his cold and frightened page in the carol could easily be spoken by Christ himself, and addressed to every one of us:
“Mark my footsteps, good my page
Tread thou in them boldly
Thou shall find the winter’s rage
Freeze thy blood less coldly.”
Featured image top of page: The Stoning of St. Stephen, by Giacinto Gimignani, 17th century
Music For Christmas
This version of “Good King Wenceslas” is from St. Andrews Anglican parish in North Swindon, England.
You wouldn’t be wrong if you observed that it’s becoming increasingly uncomfortable to be a professing Christian in our culture. The good news is, being comfortable or safe has never been part of the job description for a follower of Christ (I’ll bet you’re feeling better already). In fact, Jesus Himself is very emphatic on this point; this passage from the Gospel of John is just one example::
They will put you out of the synagogues; indeed, the hour is coming when whoever kills you will think he is offering service to God. And they will do this because they have not known the Father, nor me. But I have said these things to you, that when their hour comes you may remember that I told you of them. (John 16: 2-4)
We can see that persecution, even in times and places that claim to be Christian, has been more the rule than the exception throughout the history of the Church. Just take a look at the Saints for today (September 10th) at Catholic.org. There are 59 separate entries for today, most of them martyrs. While many of them are from the same persecution in Japan in 1622, a random sampling finds Saints suffering for the Faith throughout the history of the Church. Let’s take a look and see how, as they say, the more things change, the more they stay the same:
St. Nemesian, Felix, and Companions
A group of Nicomedian martyrs condemned to labor in the marble quarries of Sigum. They all died in this arduous servitude. The group was comprised of nine bishops from Numidia, along with other clergy and laity. The bishops include Lucius, Litteus, Polyanus, Victor, Jader, Dativus, and a second Felix. St. Cyprian wrote to them from his place of exile. (c. 250?)
We are all familiar with the first three centuries of the Church as a time of persecution. The Romans took particular care to target the leaders of the Christian movement, the bishops. There are places today (Syria and Iraq come to mind) where Christians are persecuted with a ferocity equal to, or even greater than, that under the Romans.
St. Theodard of Maastricht
Bishop and martyr. A disciple of St. Remaclus in the Benedictine abbey of Malniely. Stavelot, Belgium, he succeeded him as abbot in 635, receiving appointment as bishop of Maastricht, Netherlands, in 662. He was murdered by a band of robbers in the forest of Bienwald, near Speyer, Germany, while on his way to defend the rights of the Church against the harsh confiscatory policies of King Childeric II (r. 662-675) of Austrasia. (670)
Imagine needing to “defend the rights of the Church against . . . harsh confiscatory policies”. We can’t think of anywhere today where the state is encroaching on the Church, can we? In any case, here’s a Saint and who didn’t hesitate to stand up for Christ’s Church in the public square.
St. Cosmas of Aphrodisia
A bishop and martyr, born in Palermo, on Sicily. He was named bishop of Aphrodisia, ordained by Pope Eugene III. When the Saracens captured his see, Cosmas was seized and died as a result of harsh abuse. His cult was approved by Pope Leo XIII. (1160)
Speaking of Syria and Iraq, here we see a Catholic Bishop murdered by the Muslim jihadists of the day. While not always as virulent as it is under ISIS, Al Qaeda, and similar groups, persecution of Christians is endemic throughout the Islamic world.
St. Joseph of St. Hyacinth
Dominican martyr of Japan. He was born in Villareal, Spain. The provincial vicar of the Dominicans in Japan, he spoke perfect Japanese. Joseph was burned alive at Nagasaki. He was beatified in 1867. (1622)
Bl. Lucy de Freitas
Martyr of Japan. A native Japanese, she was the widow of Philip de Freitas. Lucy, a Franciscan tertiary, was arrested for sheltering Blessed Richard of St. Anne, a Franciscan priest. Although advanced in age, Lucy defended the faith before the authorities and was burned to death for it at Nagasaki, Japan, on September 10. She was beatified in 1867. (1622)
St. Joseph and Blessed Lucy are just two of a large number of Christians martyred at Nagasaki in 1622; there is no part of the world that has not been baptized with the blood of Christian martyrs.
“Resist him, steadfast in faith”
As noted above, Jesus is not at all hesitant about reminding his followers that discipleship is not a warm and fuzzy business. On the contrary, he says: “Blessed are you when men revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account.” (Matthew 5:11) It’s going to happen. Sometimes it’s as ugly and brutal as it was for the Saints above, or as it is for many Christians in the Middle East today; sometimes it’s a much milder variety of uttering “all kinds of evil against you falsely”, as is becoming more common in the United States and other Western countries.
Nonetheless our own sufferings for the name of Christ, even when they don’t rise to the level of serious persecution, are still hardships and injustices. As St. Peter wrote:
Be sober and vigilant. Your opponent the devil is prowling around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, steadfast in faith, knowing that your fellow believers throughout the world undergo the same sufferings. (1Peter 5:8-11)
St. Peter’s warning is as timely for us as it was for his correspondents back in the first century. We are all subject to the temptation to take the easy way out, a way that seeems easier than picking up our cross and following Christ (see Matthew 16:24). The sufferings of the Saints of the past, and of our fellow Christians throughout the world today, remind us that we are not alone, that they suffer with us just as Christ suffered for us. We can, and should, pray for persecuted Christians around the world just as we ask the Saints of the past to pray for us. Together we can stand firm, steadfast in our faith.
“‘For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one.’ So they are no longer two but one. What therefore God has joined together, let not man put asunder.” (Mark 10:7-9)
When I observed in my recent post “Sins of the Fathers . . .and of Kings” that “one of the greatest contributors to poverty and other debilitating social ills today is the break-down of sexual morality”, one reader commented: “It is enough to watch the news or TV for two minutes to realize that our miseries are not due to lack of dollars but to lack of morals.” The connection between our sexual conduct and our societal health is impossible to miss, at least for those who aren’t heavily invested in the so-called “sexual revolution”. It is clear that the societal endorsement of sexual license directly undermines the institution of marriage, and the breakdown of marriage in turn has a profoundly negative impact on children most immediately, and from there on everything and everyone else.
“What therefore God has joined together, let not man put asunder.” (Mark 10:9)
“Marriage of Mary and Joseph in the Temple” by Luca Giordano, before 1690
This last point is backed up by an enormous body of research accumulated over decades. I’m not going to delve into that mountain of data here, except to illustrate with a small sample from a 2014 article by posted on the United States National Institute of Health website:
Divorce adversely affects society by
1. Diminishing the child’s future competence.
2. Weakening the family structure.
3. Contributing to early sexual experimentation leading to increased costs for society.
4. Adversely affecting religious practice—divorce diminishes the frequency of religious worship.
5. Diminishing a child’s learning capacity and educational attainment.
6. Reducing the household income.
7. Increasing crime rates and substance use, with associated societal and governmental costs (Waite and Gallagher 2000).
9. Increasing emotional and mental health risks, including suicide.
Studies have attempted to estimate the financial cost of divorce to the United States, with most recent estimates reaching $33.3 billion per year, and with adolescent pregnancy costing at least $7 billion (Schramm 2003).
(Anderson, Jane: “The impact of family structure on the health of children: Effects of divorce”: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4240051/)
We can see in the sociological findings above living proof of the words of Our Lord, when he said:
“For no good tree bears bad fruit, nor again does a bad tree bear good fruit; for each tree is known by its own fruit.” (Luke 6:43-44)
“The Holy Trinity” attr. to Francisco Caro, 17th century
As damaging as the breakdown of the family is material terms, it’s important to bear in mind that the consequences listed above are, in and of themselves, contingent: there are worse things than worldly suffering. The ultimate purpose of loving families and stable societies is to better prepare us to spend eternity with God. The love we experience in our earthly families is intended to give us at least a glimpse of the life of the Trinitarian God, who, St. John tells us “is love” (1 John 4:8). Saint Paul tells us that our experience of human love in our families leads us to a greater love:
“For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.” This mystery is a profound one, and I am saying that it refers to Christ and the church; however, let each one of you love his wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her husband. (Ephesians 5:31-33)
If stable, loving families bring us closer to each other and to Our Lord, consequences of family breakdown such as increased crime, more substance abuse, less religious observance and so on do the opposite: they separate us from each other, and they separate us from God. We should not be surprised by our Lady’s warning at Fatima as reported by the seer Lucia: “The final battle between the Lord and the reign of Satan will be about marriage and the family.”
As it happens, the final battle is a continuation of the very first. The Devil, whose name (ὁ διάβολος) means “Divider,” sought to separate the very first human family and set husband against wife, so that Adam found himself accusing both his wife and his God: “The man said, ‘The woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me fruit of the tree, and I ate.'” (Genesis 3:12)
Blessed Margaret Pole
The battle that began in The Garden has never ended. Last week we looked at how the sexual immorality of English Kings Edward IV and Henry VIII half a millennium ago deepened and extended the separation between Christians that continues to this day. As it happens, just this past Friday the Church observed liturgical feast of one of the smaller participants in that particular drama, Blessed Margaret Pole. Margaret was the niece of Edward IV and Richard III, and also a member of the household of Henry VIII when she served as the governess to his daughter Mary (later Queen Mary). Henry is known to have referred to her as “the holiest woman in England”. Nonetheless, he dismissed her from his court because she opposed the annulment of his marriage to Catherine of Aragon (which he obtained by separating from the Catholic Church and putting himself at the head of the English church), and then his subsequent marriage to Anne Boleyn. Blessed Margaret was later arrested and eventually beheaded because of the public opposition of her son, Cardinal Pole, to Henry and Anne’s marriage.
I recently referred toSt. Julia of Corsica as a “A Saint For Our Time”. Blessed Margaret Pole, who gave her life in defense of the sanctity of marriage, also seems especially suited to the situation of our increasingly post-Christian culture. The niece of two kings and a woman renowned for piety, never tried for any crime much less convicted, Blessed Margaret was martyred because she refused to applaud publicly the sacrifice of Holy Matrimony to a third king’s lust.
Blessed Margaret’s antagonist Henry VIII, on the other hand, could serve as a sort of patron “anti-saint” for our times. He was a man possessed of great gifts: he was given a strong, handsome, athletic body, a quick mind that he applied to writing and musical composition as well as to governing, and was entrusted with the rule of a rich and powerful kingdom. Henry never mastered himself, however, and so his prodigious talents were put at the service, not of his people, but of his equally prodigious cravings for women, wealth, and power. In the end he tried to swallow even the Church. In his later years his grossly obese body became a living image of his insatiable appetites.
Henry VIII
People come and go, but human nature doesn’t change. King Henry is long gone, but his imitators are still with us. Like Henry, they are not satisfied with mere tolerance or tacit assent: they require full-throated public approval, and so the Margaret Poles must be silenced. None of us is literally being led to the block, thankfully, and pray God it never comes to that. Nevertheless, as we have seen over and over again, those who stand up for Church, family, and traditional moral norms today, even if they do so privately, can expect to have their character blackened and their livelihoods threatened.
I have often heard Blessed Margaret’s younger and much better known contemporary, St. Thomas More, proposed as a Patron Saint for our age because of his martyrdom in defense of the Church and Marriage. Like him, Blessed Margaret’s firm reliance on Christ’s loving care gave her the strength to stand fast in the face of mortal threats, and the serenity not to be swallowed up in bitterness against her persecutors. We would do well to invoke Blessed Margaret Pole along with St. Thomas More, and to pray for her intercession against the ravenous spirit of Henry VIII that yet again threatens both Faith and Family.
Featured Image at top of page: ‘Signing the register’, Edmund Blair Leighton (1920)
