In the past several decades, many Christian holidays have become increasingly secularized. Sadly, for many American families, Christmas Day is often more about gifts of material goods rather than reflections on the spiritual Gift of God-made-man lying in a manger 2000 years ago. Easter has been overrun by bunnies and baskets of jelly beans; Saint Patrick’s Day is for the leprechauns; and poor St. Valentine peddles women’s lingerie.
To some degree, even Christians get caught up in the hypnotic glow of lights and lawn ornaments, or green beer, or lavish parades and all the other trappings of the secular calendar. Christians are caught between two worlds. Especially as parents, we realize that when Christian holidays become secularized it leaves us straddling the proverbial fence. On the one hand there is the real need to recognize (and FIGHT for) the true religious nature of the holidays; on the other hand, we do not live in a vacuum. We and our children are exposed daily to the culture that surrounds us. We cannot completely shut it out of our lives. My home is not a monastery and my children are not cloistered religious. We must live in this world, even though we are called to an otherworldly purpose.
Many Christians have realized this dilemma and have begun “taking back” these religious holidays. If we must live in the culture, we will do our best to shape the culture in a Christian mold.
And so we come to Halloween…
As the word Hallow-e’en denotes, this holiday is the “eve of all hallows” – which is the evening before the Feast of All Saints. The word hallowed means “blessed” or “holy;” as in “hallowed be thy name,” which we say in the Lord’s Prayer. On Halloween the “holy” ones are the saints. (The word “saint” comes from the Latin “sanctus” which also mean “holy.”) On November 1 we celebrate the lives of all the Saints who have come before us in the faith. So the evening of October 31 marks the vigil of All Saints Day (All Hallows Eve), just as December 24 marks the vigil of Christmas (Christmas Eve).
But the holiness of this night has been neglected, ignored for so long that some Christians complain (and rightly so) that Halloween seems more pagan that Christian…and even downright Satanic. Some Christians do still send their children out trick-or-treating but others reject Halloween as a work of the devil. They point to the ancient pagan practices that resemble Halloween and draw the obvious parallels. They sometimes acknowledge the “Catholic connection” to All Saints Day, but they use that as yet another weapon in their arsenal to attack the Catholic Church as being demon-inspired and un-Christian. The Church promotes devil-worship, so they say.
The truth is that the Catholic Church does not teach that children should dress up as ghosts and goblins on the evening before All Saints Day and go door-to-door begging for candy. For that matter, the Church also does not teach that we should tell our kids about a man named Santa Claus who puts presents under a tree at Christmastime. These are both examples of secular and, to some extent, pagan cultural practices that have found their way into our own observance of the holidays. Examples of this extend into almost every facet of our lives. For instance, the throwing of rice at weddings stems from the pagan belief that this promotes fertility.
So what is a faithful Christian (Catholic) to do? Should we reject Halloween as a tool of the devil - a part of our pagan past that should be abandoned?
The problem is, if we were to eliminate all of our cultural traditions that are rooted in paganism, or that have some origin in pre-Christian thought, we would strip our culture of many time-honored institutions and perhaps find ourselves without a culture at all. Since New Testament times, Christianity has not destroyed pagan culture, but rather kept what was good in paganism by adding clarity and shedding more light on these beliefs, (giving them a Christian spin), while eliminating only the erroneous and evil beliefs and practices that accompany pagan insights. In a sense we “baptize” pagan philosophy and practices.
This is a Biblically sound principle. Paul did not uniformly denounce pagan ideals when preaching to the Gentiles. Upon entering Athens he said to the people gathered there: "Men of Athens, I observe that you are very religious in all respects. For while I was passing through and examining the objects of your worship, I also found an altar with this inscription, 'TO AN UNKNOWN GOD ' Therefore what you worship in ignorance, this I proclaim to you…” (Acts 17:22-23) In this way Paul intertwined the pagan belief in an unknown, unseen god with the God of Christianity and Judaism. While paganism is not the true path to God, Paul recognized that the seed of truth can be found even among false religions.
The lesson in all of this is clear: It is not necessary to destroy or annihilate all the beliefs and practices found in non-Christian cultural traditions. We must give new meaning to their ideas, highlight the strengths, and eliminate the weaknesses and fallacies.
Halloween is in need of a re-cleansing. It has been neglected and almost abandoned, and a modern neo-paganism has shaped it into something un-Christian. If we are to “take back” Halloween (as we are trying to “take back” Christmas or Easter) we Catholics must bring to the culture our appreciation for the Communion of Saints and the honor that we show to the dead – which is what Halloween is supposed to be about. Unfortunately Halloween has fallen victim to the macabre, grotesque, and even Satanic influence of the pop culture. But as members of a counter-movement within that culture we can push back; we can reclaim our holy night.
This year my family has begun to do this in several ways. We carved a cross (rather than a traditional face) into the large pumpkin sitting on our front porch. As we emptied the contents of the pumpkin we explained to our children that God must also cleanse us on the inside to make us into Christians. As we carved the cross, we explained that we are all marked with the sign of the cross, and the light of Christ glows within. Leading up to the holiday, we have been studying different saints, and we will focus especially on each of our patron saints, our namesakes, on the Feast of All Saints. It’s important to include November 1 in the Halloween celebration since that is the true Feast Day on the Church calendar; and also All Souls Day (celebrating all of our deceased) on November 2. Other ideas include dressing as a favorite saint or Biblical figure rather than a commercial character or a phantom, spirit, witch or ghoul. (Although this year our kids prefer superheroes and princesses.)
It is not necessary to abandon Halloween traditions like carving pumpkins and trick-or-treating. Nor should we throw up our hands and let the secular culture take this holiday away from us so that they can transform it into a grotesque mutation of the “hallowed” celebration it ought to be. Rather, we should focus our time and energy on reclaiming the Eve of All Saints and use it to shape the culture in which we live. We can then say, as Paul might: “I see you have set aside a night on which you commemorate the dead. Therefore, what you celebrate in ignorance, this I proclaim to you…”
Extremism occurs on both ends of the political spectrum. On the Left the most radical faction pushes a secular agenda, embracing multiculturalism and moral relativism. The extreme Right possesses a religious fervor (usually Christian) which shapes a world view that is typically resistant to change, quick to judge, and frequently invokes God and faith in the public forum. Not every conservative or liberal is a radical (most are not), yet the extreme positions on both sides often largely define our political debates. The loudest voices with the most passion and the most press coverage generally dominate the news cycle. This is true on both sides of the aisle.
Like it or not, no matter which political party you join or what political philosophy you adopt, you will always carry with you the extra baggage of the extreme element of your group. When I tell people I am conservative, I know that that word conjures up images of “vast right-wing conspiracies” and Bible-thumping Christian fanatics determined to establish an American theocracy. I have learned to accept this caricature of the Right (regardless of its inaccuracies) as my unwelcome companion in political discussions. But I have also learned to value what the extreme Right offers in support of my beliefs, even if I do not partake in their radicalism. Both the far Right and the far Left operate with a clarity of purpose sometimes difficult to discern among moderates. There is no compromise on their core tenets, and they thrive on simplicity of belief. It is through this simplified view of the world that they offer political insight for the rest of us.
The far Right simplifies the world by seeing everything in “black and white” - good and evil. They categorize and label every aspect of society based on a strict moral code of absolutes. A thing is either “good” and godly and righteous, or it is “evil” and demonic. There is no middle ground. Conversely, on the far left there is nothing but middle ground. Everything is “grey.” The Left is, at its core, morally relative and as such recognizes no single, legitimate moral code. Accordingly, there can be no definitive good and evil, no right and wrong. The far Left’s simplified reality rests on a rejection of absolute moral Truth. Truth is relative.
Of course the flaw in these two approaches is not that they are both entirely wrong, but that they each have it only half right. More moderate thinkers from the left and right know that there is both “black and white” as well as “grey.” There is such a thing as absolute good and evil; and then there are times when moral questions are not so easily answered. Real dialogue happens when each side is willing to recognize the validity of both these points of view. Constructive dialogue always happens in the middle, not from the extremes.
Then what purpose do the extremes serve?
I have learned to accept the far Right as my ally because they offer moral grounding, a jumping off point, an ideological foundation. I begin any serious review of an issue by going back to the center of conservative values, back to the simplicity at the heart of it all. There I know that absolute Truth does exist; that there is good and evil, right and wrong; that there is a God and a purpose to life. I know that the grey-ness of the world is a mixture of the black and white Truths that shape my conservative convictions. Knowing these Truths I can step into the grey middle and better defend a particular position or course of action.
As a Catholic parent I see the importance of the Right’s over-simplified world view reflected in the upbringing of my children. My eldest is six years old. He is just beginning to see the grey-ness in the world of morality. He is beginning to understand that some issues are a complex blend of good and evil which must be carefully sorted out before passing judgment on a course of action or deciding the rectitude of any given moral choice. But to get to this point of complex discernment, he first had to be taught that moral absolutes exist as a foundation to shape his moral compass. He had to be grounded in a more radical “right and wrong” - a simplified moral logic, easily digested by a toddler or a preschooler - from which he can now judge the world. He had to be taught the absolute Truths of morality first, so that now he can navigate the uncertain grey-ness of the physical world.
My three-year-old is not at the same level of moral awareness as my six-year-old. For a few more years she must grapple with the “black-and-white” of a simplified morality so that, when she is ready, she too will reach a level of moral maturity and be able to cope with the grey-ness of the world, having first received a grounding in Truth. In a sense, I am parenting my children from radical Right-wingers into moderate conservatives.
Moderate conservatives do not deny that the world is filled with grey-ness. We meet people every day who are a moral mix of black and white – they are kind and loving souls, and yet they can do evil things. We all are capable of sin; even saints are sinners. No one is morally “white” (that is clean, pure and undefiled); and no one is morally “black” (totally corrupted and un-redeemable). As moral agents our actions are often a mixture of good and evil, in our intentions and in their outcome. If I am to send my children out into this world of grey how will they be able to discern good and evil, how are they to know right from wrong? I must first teach them that “black” and “white” exist and that the grey-ness they see is merely a blending of the two. Only then will they make moral sense of the grey-ness because they will know the source from which it is all derived.
On the other hand, if a child begins from a far-left perspective, that there is no right and wrong, that good and evil are relative, that all is grey and Truth is of our own making, then that child is left with only the shades of grey and no hope of sorting out the black-ness and white-ness of morality. They approach life with their own shade of grey, a unique shade, with no concept of the black and white from which it came. Good and Evil are swallowed up in a confused mix. Such a grounding in moral confusion cannot form a basis for right moral judgment.
So the problem of the political extremes is like that of a child learning moral Truth. The extreme Right sees the “black and white” and so has built a foundation for correct moral judgment (however immature this may be). The extreme Left is like an undisciplined child who has never been shown goodness nor scolded for evil. If the debate between these extremes sometimes seems like a shouting match between two three-year-olds, then I think that is an apt description. The radicals of each party are the embarrassing tantrum-throwers in the political families. If we engage ourselves in an active political life, we are bound to be thrown in at some point with one or the other of these groups (fairly or not). We will find ourselves in the same family with one or the other of the political preschoolers. We will look to our right or to our left and see that our allies in a particular cause are one or the other of the political extremes.
I categorize myself as a conservative. I am not “radical” – but I do appreciate the source from which the radical Right derives its passion. I do not mind being grouped with the Right-wingers any more than I mind being the parent of an unruly three-year-old. It is occasionally embarrassing, and I sometimes scold them publically, but they are part of the family, and I see the possibility of molding them into well-developed moral agents. They at least have in place some rudimentary insights into Truth and our divine origins…although I have serious disagreements with some of them theologically and on the correct application of these principles within society.
The far Right-wing does not always understand the reality of the moral grey (or even accept that it exists), but they do protect with zeal the Truth that I share in common with them. I am not a radical right-winger. But I am a conservative who remains in the fold, not in spite of the extreme faction on the right, but precisely because of those extremists. Although they are often self-destructive, closed-minded, and tactless, they understand certain Truths that the morally bankrupt extreme Left does not and cannot because of its own ideological flaws.
If I must be associated with the radical faction of a particular philosophy, then let it be those who see the world as having meaning and purpose and a foundation of Truth. If my political choices carry with them, at least in part, the added weight of the extreme conservative fringe then I can live with that, because I know that the extreme Left offers nothing in its place.
NOTE:
I would like to stress that there are some extreme elements within politics which do not deserve a place at the table. On both sides there are factions that use reprehensible tactics, or vile language, or make unfair accusations and peddle falsehoods. These groups are not the subject of this post.
I would never embrace or even tolerate a group that would blow up an abortion clinic, for instance. Nor would I suggest that liberals ought to embrace or make excuses for groups that set fire to corporate buildings because of their dislike of capitalism.
Instead I would use as an example a pro-life protestor holding a sign showing the dismembered body of an aborted fetus and shouting at women that they are going to hell for getting an abortion. This kind of action, while extreme (and I do reject it) is far less morally reprehensible than any terrorist action or destruction of property. I would never advocate breaking the law or harming someone physically just to make a political point.
Holding a picture of a dismembered fetus is well within a person’s free speech rights as is shouting that someone is going to hell… But it is tactless and infantile. My point would be that at least such a person has the correct moral foundation – abortion is evil; it is a sin; and certainly hell is a very real possibility for someone who traffics in this sin. But only God can make such a determination about one’s soul. And there are better ways to win over converts to your way of thinking than waving around pictures of bloody corpses.
This kind of political extremism is common and often makes the news. Nobody is doing anything illegal or engaging in terrorist plots…they just have misdirected passions and don’t know how to channel them effectively. As I said above: the extremists like this on the Right are at least in the right ball park. Those on the Left are not even close.
In our last installment concerning The Martyrdom of Polycarp we uncovered the ancient Christian custom of preserving the bodies or bones of saints as “relics” – objects intended for veneration by future generations. The ancient Christians honored Christ by paying honor and respect to the mortal remains of deceased saints. They revered saints because in doing so they gave glory to Christ from whom the saints receive grace and holiness. By studying and imitating their lives Christians sought to share in the holiness of saints, looking to them as examples of faithfulness and as imitators of Christ.
In the case of martyrs (those who died violently as witnesses to the faith) their imitation of Jesus comes through more directly as they shared in His suffering through their own deaths. In the martyrdom account of Polycarp this parallel between a martyr’s death and Christ’s death on the cross takes on a Eucharistic tone:
“…And as the flame blazed forth in great fury…the fire, shaping itself into the form of an arch, like the sail of a ship when filled with the wind, encompassed as by a circle the body of the martyr. And he appeared within not like flesh which is burnt, but as bread that is baked…”
This description of “flesh” appearing like “bread” is undeniably Eucharistic. In the Eucharist (the communion meal of bread and wine shared by Christians) the Lord’s body is made present under the appearance of bread. We discussed this Real Presence of Christ when studying the writings of Ignatius of Antioch, also a student of John the Apostle and a friend and fellow bishop of Polycarp. Ignatius tells us that the Eucharist is a source of unity within the Catholic Church – we are united to one another by participating in the one sacrifice of Christ made present in the Eucharist, and we unite ourselves to Christ by offering our own suffering as a participation in His suffering made present in the Eucharist. Like Polycarp, Ignatius also compared his own death to the Eucharist in this way: “I am the wheat of God, and let me be ground by the teeth of the wild beasts, that I may be found the pure bread of Christ.”
It is fitting then to honor saints as imitators of Christ, especially those who die a martyr’s death, who link their own suffering to that of the Lord.
Carrying this analogy further, the Martyrdom even suggests that the suffering of these holy and faithful people offers some relief of punishment for sins:
“…And, looking to the grace of Christ, they despised all the torments of this world, redeeming themselves from eternal punishment by [the suffering of] a single hour. For this reason the fire of their savage executioners appeared cool to them.”
This is called “redemptive suffering” – which is the Catholic teaching that our suffering here on earth can go toward the relief of any punishment for the sins of the one suffering, or even for the sins of others. Paul suggests this idea with regard to his own afflictions: “I now rejoice in my sufferings for you, and fill up in my flesh what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ, for the sake of His body, which is the church.” (Colossians 1:24)
Paul says that his suffering fills up “what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ, for the sake of His body.” Not that Jesus’ suffering was ineffective, but that His suffering has a dimension that transcends time and draws us into a relationship with Him, across the centuries, by linking our suffering to His own. We as believers are His Mystical Body. How fitting it is that His Body, the church, should share in the sufferings that He underwent in His own human body while He lived among us. How else can we explain what Paul says about Jesus’ afflictions “lacking” in any sense of that word? If we are to “fill up” what is lacking in His suffering, it can only mean that our own suffering has a redemptive quality through and in Christ’s sufferings.
So when we read in the Martyrdom that Polycarp and his companions were “redeeming themselves from eternal punishment,” we must read this in light of Paul’s own testimony in Scripture. Our suffering has spiritual benefits, not in spite of Christ’s suffering, but through and in His suffering. My suffering can “fill up in my flesh what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ.”
A further comparison between Polycarp’s death and the sacrificial death of Jesus is to be seen in the references made to Polycarp as a “ram,” as an unblemished offering to God in the mode of Jewish sacrificial offerings of old:
“…placing his hands behind him, and being bound like a distinguished ram [taken] out of a great flock for sacrifice, and prepared to be an acceptable burnt-offering unto God…”
So too Polycarp offers a prayer on his own behalf: “… may I be accepted this day before You as a fat and acceptable sacrifice, according as You, the ever-truthful God, hast foreordained, hast revealed beforehand to me, and now hast fulfilled.”
The sacrifice of one’s life in the name of Jesus is the surest way to fulfill what the Lord said when He insisted that we must lose our lives to gain eternal life, and we must take up our cross and follow Him. (Mark 8:34-35) Certainly we are not all called to be martyrs in this way, but those who have met this fate in the course of Christian history, stand out as exemplary models of Christian faithfulness and rightly deserve our respect and honor. Their bones, now shattered fragments of a life once lived in harmony with God’s will, are to us, (as the Martyrdom of Polycarp states): “more precious than the most exquisite jewels, and more purified than gold.”
To this day, Catholic churches around the world house the relics of saints “deposited..in a fitting place whither, being gathered together, as opportunity is allowed us, with joy and rejoicing, the Lord shall grant us to celebrate...both in memory of those who have already finished their course, and for the exercising and preparation of those yet to walk in their steps.”
The Martyrdom of Polycarp bears witness to the ancient Christian celebration of saintly lives, and to the collection of relics and the spiritual benefits of suffering. Written sometime shortly after his death in 155 AD, The Martyrdom of Polycarp is one of the oldest authentic examples of Christian Acts of the Martyrs, which tell similar tales of heroic faith and virtue under threat of death and persecution. Polycarp’s direct link to Apostolic times, having lived in the First Century and studied under one or more of the Apostles, gives to this text an added weight. We see here a Church shaped directly by Apostolic faith as transmitted by a hand-picked successor to the Apostles. The information we glean from this source adds yet another layer of understanding to our knowledge of authentic Christianity from the earliest centuries. If we wish to believe as the first Christian believed, we must accept with due reverence what was taught by a man such as Polycarp of Smyrna.
We have been reviewing the life and writings of Polycarp of Smyrna, a First and Second Century Christian and bishop, an Apostolic Father, and student of the Apostle John. In our study, we have seen that Polycarp described the Church as a hierarchical, authoritative institution which derives its teaching power from God. According to Polycarp, we owe our allegiance to the Church as we owe obedience to Christ - this despite the imperfections of the humans who make up the Church. Polycarp acknowledged that the ordained clergy sometimes fall into sin and may need to be removed from office when they are unfit to serve (he offers an example of this in the person of Valens, a presbyter in his own time who was removed for matters of personal sin). Nonetheless Polycarp insisted that the laity must obey their bishops and all properly ordained ministers of the Church because they receive their authority through Apostolic Succession.
Polycarp was not alone in this view of the Church. He recommended the writings of his friend and fellow bishop Ignatius of Antioch (also a student of John) as a source for sound teaching and edification in the faith. Polycarp and Ignatius were part of a network of bishops who held authority over local church communities in the First and Second Centuries. Ignatius referred to this world-wide Church organization as the “Catholic” (or “universal”) Church.
Within the ancient “Catholic Church” the local bishops were united to one another through a succession of bishops going back the Apostles and the thus to Jesus Himself. A further source of unity was the unique honor and respect given to the Bishop of Rome, successor of Peter and head of the Church on earth. The Bishop of Rome possessed an authority recognized by the other bishops within the universal Church. Earlier we saw how Clement, a bishop of Rome in the mid-to-late First Century, exercised an authority over the other churches as he wrote to the Corinthians to clarify a dispute over proper ordination of clergy. And again with Polycarp we saw how the Bishop of Rome was respected for his authority to set the date for the celebration of Easter. Ignatius cited the Roman Church above all others as being “worth of praise” and “worthy of honor.”
These are only a few points of interest which we have explored in past installments. As we proceed in this study of Patristic writing a more complete picture of early Christian doctrine and ecclesial life will emerge. We have thus far examined only three Fathers of the Church, with many more available for our consideration. But for now, we must take one last look at Polycarp, and for that we turn to a text written not by Polycarp but about Polycarp, specifically his martyrdom.
“The Martyrdom of Polycarp” was written shortly after the great bishop’s death by an unnamed author (or authors) in his home church of Smyrna. It was addressed to the whole Catholic Church, as a tribute to their fallen leader:
“The Church of God which sojourns at Smyrna, to the Church of God sojourning in Philomelium, and to all the congregations of the Holy and Catholic Church in every place: Mercy, peace, and love from God the Father, and our Lord Jesus Christ, be multiplied.”
The text tells of Polycarp’s arrest and subsequent trial before the multitudes in the local arena. Polycarp heroically testified to his Christian faith as he faced certain death:
“Then, the proconsul urging him, and saying, ‘Swear, and I will set you at liberty, reproach Christ;’ Polycarp declared, ‘Eighty and six years have I served Him, and He never did me any injury: how then can I blaspheme my King and my Saviour.’”
Polycarp was eventually burned at the stake. But first his crime was announced to the crowds gathered there to watch the spectacle:
“…the proconsul was astonished, and sent his herald to proclaim in the midst of the stadium thrice, Polycarp has confessed that he is a Christian. This proclamation having been made by the herald, the whole multitude both of the heathen and Jews, who dwelt at Smyrna, cried out with uncontrollable fury, and in a loud voice, ‘This is the teacher of Asia, the father of the Christians, and the overthrower of our gods, he who has been teaching many not to sacrifice, or to worship the gods.’”
Ironically, in this passage, those gathered to condemn Polycarp bestowed on him the title by which he is now known within Christianity: “father of the Christians.” His preaching made him a “father” of the faith just as Paul’s preaching had earned him that title as well: “…for I became your father in Jesus Christ through the gospel.” (1 Corinthians 4:15) The use of the term “father” to describe a spiritual leader is a Christian tradition that is clearly Biblical and that continued into the early Church. The term “father” in this text is a testament to Polycarp’s great spiritual influence, recognized even by his enemies.
In committing to writing “The Martyrdom of Polycarp” the Church of Smyrna hoped to encourage other Christians in the empire who faced persecution and to offer a tribute to a man who had provided a valuable link to the Apostles, transmitting the faith for the next generation. As such, this loving portrayal of Christian martyrdom was not originally written as a source for doctrinal study or as a textbook to explain Church teaching. Nonetheless woven into the account there are glimpses of Christian doctrine which reflect First and Second Century Christian belief, and that sketch out some intriguing theological points. For our own purposes of reflection, we will take into consideration a few individual passages…
“And when the funeral pile was ready, Polycarp, laying aside all his garments, and loosing his girdle, sought also to take off his sandals,— a thing he was not accustomed to do, inasmuch as every one of the faithful was always eager who should first touch his skin. For, on account of his holy life, he was, even before his martyrdom, adorned with every kind of good.”
This passage seems to suggest a “power” or spiritual significance attached to the body of Polycarp. Perhaps God worked miracles through Polycarp. He certainly was revered as a great teacher and a direct link to the Apostles; perhaps he had gifts of healing as the Apostles did. Whatever the case, the faithful Christians obviously attributed some religious significance to the body of this man who lived such a good and holy life. This recalls what was said of Paul in Scripture:
“God was performing extraordinary miracles by the hands of Paul, so that handkerchiefs or aprons were even carried from his body to the sick, and the diseases left them and the evil spirits went out.” (Acts 19:11-12)
According to the Bible, even the “shadow” of an Apostle could have miraculous powers: “…people brought the sick into the streets and laid them on beds and mats so that at least Peter's shadow might fall on some of them as he passed by.” (Acts 5:15)
This also brings to mind the familiar story in Mark 5:24-34 of the woman cured by touching Jesus’ garments. We are told that this was a common occurrence: “And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed.” (Mark 6:56)
So, physical contact with a holy person, with his body or clothing or something else closely associated with his person, was a Christian practice that dates from the time of Jesus and continued through the Apostles and into the First and Second Century.
This brings us to another passage from the Martyrdom…
“…we afterwards took up his bones, as being more precious than the most exquisite jewels, and more purified than gold, and deposited them in a fitting place, whither, being gathered together, as opportunity is allowed us, with joy and rejoicing, the Lord shall grant us to celebrate the anniversary of his martyrdom, both in memory of those who have already finished their course, and for the exercising and preparation of those yet to walk in their steps.”
Even in death, a saint’s bones retained a spiritual significance for ancient Christians. They were “more precious than the most exquisite jewels, and more purified than gold” according to this Second Century account. Christians gathered around the burial places of saints to commemorate the person’s life and death in Christ: “both in memory of those who have already finished their course, and for the exercising and preparation of those yet to walk in their steps.” Obviously, saints and martyrs offered a concrete example of how to live out the faith. Polycarp stood as a first rate example of this as a witness to Apostolic teaching. Certainly this honor shown to saints presents the danger of over-emphasizing human persons and removing the focus from God. The Christians who wrote this account of Polycarp’s martyrdom were well aware of this concern and spoke directly to it...
The official who oversaw Polycarp’s trial “…did his utmost that not the least memorial of him should be taken away by us, although many desired to do this, and to become possessors of his holy flesh. For this end he suggested…to go and entreat the governor not to give up his body to be buried, lest… forsaking Him that was crucified, they begin to worship this one.”
People who do not understand the Christian practice of honoring and revering saints (such as this pagan official) often assume that we “worship” saints as though they are gods. But this ancient text goes on to correct this fallacy…
“…it is neither possible for us ever to forsake Christ, who suffered for the salvation of such as shall be saved throughout the whole world (the blameless one for sinners), nor to worship any other. For Him indeed, as being the Son of God, we adore; but the martyrs, as disciples and followers of the Lord, we worthily love on account of their extraordinary affection towards their own King and Master, of whom may we also be made companions and fellow-disciples!”
Saints and martyrs are not worshiped in place of Christ, or as equals to God. Rather they are honored for their devotion to Christ, “as disciples and followers of the Lord, we worthily love [them] on account of their extraordinary affection towards their own King and Master;” they are held up as examples to be imitated as fellow disciples of Jesus. This is not unlike Paul’s instruction regarding the example of his own life: “Be imitators of me, just as I also am of Christ.” (1 Corinthians 11:1; and also 4:16)
Paul does not limit this to himself; he says that others who follow this pattern of life are also worthy of imitation: “Brethren, join in following my example, and observe those who walk according to the pattern you have in us.” (Philippians 3:17)
Polycarp fit this model offered by Paul, as The Martyrdom of Polycarp tells us:
“He was not merely an illustrious teacher, but also a pre-eminent martyr, whose martyrdom all desire to imitate, as having been altogether consistent with the Gospel of Christ. For, having through patience overcome the unjust governor, and thus acquired the crown of immortality, he now, with the apostles and all the righteous [in heaven], rejoicingly glorifies God, even the Father, and blesses our Lord Jesus Christ, the Saviour of our souls, the Governor of our bodies, and the Shepherd of the Catholic Church throughout the world.”
(More on Polycarp’s martyrdom in the next installment…)
I will soon post Part III of a series studying the life and writings of Polycarp, a First-Second Century Christian, and bishop of the church in Smyrna in Asia Minor. Polycarp is the third “Father of the Church” I have examined in an ongoing series on “Patristics.”
The series began as a response to a conversation I had at another blog with a non-Catholic Christian who challenged the Catholic claim to an authentic, historic link to the ancient Church. Over the course of this series, I hope to examine many early Christian writings to demonstrate the thoroughly “Catholic” nature of ancient Christian belief. This series will continue to be a recurring element of my blog for the foreseeable future, as I will occasionally add to the series with new posts and new Fathers for consideration and reflection. As always, I welcome any comments or questions.
Because I was absent from my blog for a few months, and since it has been quite some time since I first began this series on Patristics, I thought it worth while to re-post my original introduction to the whole series (which can be found below). All of the subsequent posts in the series can be found in the blog archive…
Patristics: The Church in her own words
The first few centuries A.D. was not an easy time to be a Christian. Some of the earliest Christians paid for their belief with their very lives. Indeed, many were martyred for professing faith in Jesus of Nazareth. These men and women were great witnesses to the faith. (The word “martyr” in fact means “witness.”) The early Christian witnesses were sure in their convictions; they were steadfast in faith. So certain were they in the correctness of their doctrine that they were willing to die for what they believed.
If we were asked to likewise die, could we be as certain as they? How are we to know whether our doctrine is in fact authentic – authentic enough to die for? Do we believe as the first Christians did?
Christianity today offers many competing doctrines; there are many sects and denominations. No two groups teach exactly the same beliefs about God or Jesus or salvation or any other tenet of the faith. Yet all of these various Christian churches, as different as they are, attempt to make an appeal to the early Christians. The churches and denominations of today strive to link themselves to those who first believed. Everyone wants to believe as the Christian martyrs did in the First or Second or Third Centuries, when the faith was young and the Spirit was so clearly at work.
But would these early Christians recognize our brand of Christianity? Can any of our churches today truly be in line with the Christianity of the first centuries? Would we be dying for the same beliefs?
To study this question in depth we must explore what is called “patristics” – from the Latin “pater” or “father.” We must look to what are called the “Fathers” of the Church. These early Christians left behind a written record of their belief. Before they were fed to lions or cast into the flames or finished off in any number of various gruesome methods, these Christian witnesses wrote letters, compiled histories, explained Scripture, and otherwise documented a host of details from this early period of Christianity. This is a vast treasure trove of information from which we can build an idea of what the early Christians thought and believed on a whole host of issues and matters of faith.
These records are not complete. That is, they do not present a concise summary of all doctrines and dogmas that early Christians held. They were never meant to be an all-in-one reference guide to the faith. But they do give us priceless gems of insight scattered throughout centuries of writing, which when taken together, give us a broad view of what Christianity was truly all about in the first few hundred years. By studying what these Church Fathers had to say we can survey the landscape of today’s Christianity and come to see which church, if any, can truly claim an authentic relationship with the Apostolic Church.
I propose to examine several of the earliest Fathers, one by one, to examine their lives, sample some of their writings, and explore their doctrine, in an attempt to better understand the Church as she was from the beginning.
Both the Anglican (Episcopal) Church and the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America denominations have faced some internal strife in the past several months concerning openly homosexual clergy. Certain governing bodies within each of the denominations have voted to allow openly gay members to serve as pastors or even as bishops within their respective denominations. Obviously, this has caused an uproar among the more traditionally minded members. Some of those concerned Christians have begun seeking other denominational bodies with which to associate. Whole parishes or even whole dioceses are seeking to realign themselves with other factions within their own Protestant tradition.
This is really nothing new, of course. There are already a plethora of churches and denominations within Protestantism which have broken ties with one group and then merged with another, only to sometimes undo that association and move on to yet another body of Christians. Within Protestantism the lines that separate one sect from another are not always distinct nor are they solidly fixed. There is a constant splintering and realignment within Protestantism that begs the question: What is “church”?
Most Protestants (and I use that term loosely to include most non-Catholic Christians who would associate themselves with the teachings of the Protestant Reformers) describe “church” in very vague terms. The most common response I get when I ask non-Catholics this question goes something like this: “The ‘church’ is the invisible body of believers here on earth. It is all those who believe that Jesus Christ is Lord and died for our sins.” That’s a rather vague definition, but it does fit the rather vague delineations and constant shape-shifting that one sees among Protestants. I suppose it shows consistency.
I have also asked non-Catholics whether I might be included in that vague ‘church,’ since I as a Catholic believe in Jesus and in what He did for us. And the answers are mixed. Some say yes, because my belief in that simple formula of faith is enough. Others say no, because my other beliefs as a Catholic are superstitious and even idolatrous. Once again, ‘church’ is not clearly defined.
And again, I have asked Protestants why they find it necessary to associate with one another within denominations if all that is really required to be ‘church’ is a vague belief in Jesus. Why have a Lutheran Church Missouri Synod that is distinct from the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America and why are these Lutheran sects then separate from Anglicans, Baptists and so on, who also have their divisions. If all we need is a belief in Jesus and THERE is the Church, then why are there so many churches?
“Well, these are the various ‘traditions’ within Protestantism,” I am told. “Different men and women have read Scripture and discovered different ways to live out the Gospel Truth.” ….Hmmm, sounds an awful lot like the “traditions of men.” Catholics get that one pounded over our heads quite frequently. (But Catholics only accept ONE Tradition; anyone who wants to read the Bible and come up with their own tradition can go join the Protestant fold.)
And so the questions continue: What about these differing methods of governing the churches – councils, synods, congregationalism? What about bishops – why do some have them and others do not? What about the role of the laity – why do some play an active role in determining doctrine and others do not? What about the sacraments – how many are there, what significance do they have, what do they do for us?
So then, finally I must ask my Protestant friends: why is it that Jesus did not clearly define the Church? What guide do we have from Jesus to show us what teachings are correct?
“Well, the BIBLE, of course. The New Testament gives us a description of the Church and what it should look like.”
So I search the pages of Scripture to see what it is that Jesus literally said on this matter. Strangely, He never said to the Apostles, “I will command some among you to write a New Testament, and this will teach you how to form a Church. From this you will form various denominations and associate with fellow Christians within these differing traditions.” No. He did not leave it up to us to go thumbing through the Bible to find out how to do this thing called “church.” He did not intend for us to form thousands of separate churches that squabble over doctrinal and moral issues and perpetually realign themselves as doctrines change.
Rather than allow such confusion and vagueness when it comes to the question of “church,” Jesus established, once and for all, a single Church, when He said, “…on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hell will not overcome it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven; whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” (Matthew 16:18-19)
A Church with this authority to “bind and loose” could never be questioned on matters of faith and morals. Such a Church, established by Jesus Himself, could never be viewed as an optional ‘tradition of men’ added on after the fact. A Church that can withstand the “gates of Hell” could never be a wishy-washy, vague denomination or an invisible, undefined throng, who disagree on doctrine and meet in separate houses of worship. A house divided against itself cannot stand…how could the Protestant vision of ‘church’ stand up to the very gates of Hell?
The head of the Anglican Communion has suggested a solution to the problem of ordained homosexual clergy. He suggests that two distinct bodies of Anglicans could co-exist within one larger denomination. One group can maintain the traditional view, that open homosexuality is a sin and objectively disordered and thus precludes one from ordination. The other group could accept homosexuality as a valid expression of Christian sexuality and so allow gays into the priesthood and episcopal office. It seems to me that this only temporarily puts off an inevitable schism. How can one church believe two opposing things regarding such a serious sin and ordination? How can anyone endorse the idea of a house divided against itself, and call it the Christian “Church”?
But then again…Isn’t that the foundation of Protestantism – Christianity torn by schism, first from Catholicism and then from one another? Haven’t Protestants always, on the one hand, defended their diversity of belief, yet on the other, ripped apart their houses of worship and shattered their unity because of the diversity they so loudly proclaim?
Is this God’s plan for His Church?
I have always considered the naming of a child an important responsibility for parents. One ought to approach this task seriously and, dare I say, even religiously - with a mind toward one’s faith. God calls each of us by name…it is the parents’ duty to select the name that will be uttered by the Good Shepherd as “he calls his own sheep by name.” (John 10:3) As parents we are responsible for the development of new souls created by God as unique individuals and meant for eternal life. The name given each child is the first official act parents take in guiding that soul to heaven, where his or her name will be written in the Book of Life.
In Scripture names often describe a person’s vocation or personality or relationship to others, including a relationship to God. A change in a person’s status or a special call from God often included a change of names: Abram became Abraham, Jacob became Israel, Saul changed to Paul, and Simon was named Peter. God’s own name was so sacred that the ancient Jews were forbidden to utter it. So, in this ancient Judeo-Christian tradition, the name of a newborn child ought to bear with it great significance, marking the child for a special purpose, reminding him or her of God’s call to holiness.
Needless to say, my wife and I thought carefully and prayerfully about the names of our children. Our most recent addition to the family, Elizabeth Gianna, has been perhaps the most significant of these name selections, both in the way her name came about and hopefully in the way her name will shape our future and hers. Specifically the name “Gianna” carries with it a deep spiritual meaning for us.
While four months pregnant with Elizabeth my wife had a stroke. She awoke one night with one side of her body in paralyzed – her fist clenched tight, one side of her face drooping, and one leg heavy and difficult to move. I immediately called 911; the ambulance arrived and rushed her to the hospital. I stayed behind at our house with our two oldest children (both of whom had been sick and were sound asleep through the whole event). I reluctantly agreed, at my wife’s insistence, to stay home until the hospital called with more information. Obviously it was a sleepless night.
Our son awoke shortly after the ambulance drove away. He came to me and asked where Mom had gone. I explained everything and tried to prepare him for what might be a changed life – a mother who needs our help and care, a parent who once labored for her family but might now need her family to make sacrifices for her. I tried not to imagine the worst case scenarios, but these things have a way of creeping into your head when you lie awake not knowing what the morning will bring.
Our son asked, “What can we do for Mom now?”
“Pray.” I replied. And so I led him through some prayers. He prayed silently for awhile until he drifted off to sleep again.
I could not sleep…but worst of all, I could not pray. Oh, I mouthed the words and meditated on mysteries, but half of me wasn’t there. Half of me was in the hospital, and I didn’t know if she was going to be the same after that night.
As I lay awake, alone and in the dark, I remembered Saint Gianna Molla. She was an Italian doctor, wife, and mother who died in the 1960’s. While pregnant with her fourth child, she developed a tumor on her uterus. She was told that if she aborted her child the tumor could be removed and she would be cured. But if she continued with the pregnancy there would certainly be risks and she could very likely die. Gianna refused to kill her own child. She insisted that if the doctors had to choose which life to save they should save the life of her unborn baby. Eventually, after a difficult pregnancy she gave birth to a healthy baby girl. A short time later Gianna died from complications. She was declared a Saint in 2004 and is a model of self-sacrifice and motherhood.
My wife read about Saint Gianna more than a year ago - long before her most recent pregnancy and before her own medical scare. She was immediately drawn to this woman who lived so close to our own time and who dedicated her life so profoundly to her family, sacrificing her own life for the life of her child. When I heard the story of Gianna I was impressed, but not particularly dawn to the saint in the same way my wife had been. It was one of those things you store away in your mind but seldom revisit. I knew who Gianna was, but beyond that I had simply a vague admiration of her.
That changed the night of my wife’s stroke.
As I lay in bed, I prayed all the usual prayers that every Catholic learns from childhood, but my mind was elsewhere. I tried praying silently, without words, placing myself in God’s presence, but my focus was gone. I tried to find words of my own, but I found none. None of it felt like “real” prayer. My mind raced and anxiety crept in. This went on for more than an hour.
Then I remembered Gianna. I knew my wife had felt a connection to her even before this night. But now she faced an unknown illness as she bore within her our unborn daughter. Her relationship to Gianna seemed more intimate than before.
So I said, “Gianna, I can’t seem to pray right now. If you could just say some prayers for me, while I try to get some sleep, maybe I’ll be able to face whatever the morning brings.” Immediately I felt at peace and I drifted off to sleep.
I awoke only a couple of hours later. With very little sleep, I still felt refreshed and ready for whatever news I would receive from the doctors. I didn’t have to wait long. While feeding the kids their breakfast, I got a call from the hospital. My wife was ready to be discharged. There were no lasting signs of the stroke – the paralysis had gone away, her vital signs were normal, and most importantly, the baby was fine.
She had actually been ready for release a few hours before, but as my wife later recalled, she had heard the doctor say, “Don’t call her husband just yet. She has young ones at home – let them sleep.” And I had slept, thanks to Gianna. It was about the same time the doctor had said these words (some time in the middle of the night) that I had whispered my request to Saint Gianna and finally found peace. And I am sure it was thanks to Gianna that my wife had made a full recovery so quickly.
Months later (and after several more doctors visits that offered us no further explanation as to what had happened that night) we celebrated the birth of our daughter. The ob-gyn who delivered her asked us, “What are you naming her?”
Years before, we had settled on “Elizabeth” (my wife’s Confirmation name) as the name of our next daughter. Of course, Elizabeth was a woman who also bore a child (John the Baptist) under miraculous circumstances, and is a model for mothers. But we had not settled on a middle name until that night of worry and prayer when Gianna had come to our aide. It seemed fitting that Gianna should be honored as our child’s namesake. So we replied to the doctor’s question: “Elizabeth Gianna.”
The doctor raised his eyebrows, “Interesting. Where did you get Gianna?”
Of course, he already knew of my wife’s medical history, having been her physician. So we explained who Gianna Molla was, and all about my prayer that night. We told him that Gianna is an important patron saint of the pro-life cause and that we wanted to pass on to our daughter the same love of life and willingness to sacrifice for others. Prompted by this reply, we had a brief but engaging conversation with him and the attending nurse about life and parenthood, the significance of names and the sometimes profound meaning of names, and how the culture seems to have lost sight of these things.
Many times, when people are asked, “Where did you get your child’s name?” I hear the reply: “I just thought it sounded nice.” When my wife and I are asked about Elizabeth’s name we can respond: “Let me tell you a story about a woman who gave her life for her own child. And let me tell you why I value each human life, especially the unborn…” Our daughter’s name gives us the opportunity to witness to our faith and to speak out about the horror of abortion and the sanctity of human life. I don’t know how many people we may affect in this way. I don’t know how many people Elizabeth will encounter who will ask her the same question and give her the chance to offer her own testimony. But I do know that in choosing her name we have pointed her in the right direction for a strong relationship with God and a deep appreciation for her faith.
So many of today’s parents choose their child’s name to be “different,” to be “unique,” to set them apart from the crowd. I hope that my own children’s names teach them that they are a part of something bigger, that they are dependent on others, and that others depend on them. I hope that their names point to a larger Communion of Saints that reaches beyond earth, beyond the here and now, and draws them into one Body in Christ.
So many of today’s parents choose their child’s name for the beauty of the word. But the beauty of a name is not found only in the way it rolls off the tongue or melodically dances in the air when we call out to our child. Names carry stories, and symbols, and messages of faith, hope, and love. A name carries with it the richness of a person’s life. The beauty of the word should point to the beauty of the Word - our names should point us to Christ.
In the past several decades, many Christian holidays have become increasingly secularized. Sadly, for many American families, Christmas Day is often more about gifts of material goods rather than reflections on the spiritual Gift of God-made-man lying in a manger 2000 years ago. Easter has been overrun by bunnies and baskets of jelly beans; Saint Patrick’s Day is for the leprechauns; and poor St. Valentine peddles women’s lingerie.
