Sancti Obscuri – St. Crispin and St. Crispinian (October 25)

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Jacob Gruber

In Shakespeare’s “Henry V”, King Henry overhears a soldier lamenting how few men have come from England to fight in a battle against the French at the Battle of Agincourt, leaving their odds of carrying home a win rather low. He responds with a bold appeal to all the courage left in the hearts of that “band of brothers” who did show up for battle and unites the hope of their victory with the celebration for all time of St. Crispin and Crispianus (Crispinian). It’s worth the watch:

Fictional though this speech may be, the king’s prediction seems to have unfortunately come true: “and Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by from this day to the ending of the world but we in it shall be remembered!” In this article, it is my hope that on the feast of Crispin and Crispinian this year (October 25), Crispin and Crispinian themselves will be remembered for once!

These two saints lived the in middle of the third century in the Roman empire. Allegedly, they were brothers from a noble Roman family. The story from the Bollandists (from which the Catholic Encyclopedia draws their information in the case of these men) tells us that they went to Soissons in Gaul together to preach the faith. While there, they supported themselves financially primarily by making shoes. Their missionary work there was so effective, however, that it caught the attention of the high Roman authorities. A short historical detour is necessary at this point.

Crispin and Crispinian lived in the time of the Roman Emperor Diocletian. Any Christian familiar with some Roman history should be feeling the shiver run down their spine – this man was ruthless. He was Roman emperor from 284 to 305 AD, and in his rule he initiated one of the biggest, cruelest persecutions in early Church history (which is no small statement when the bloodbaths of Emperors Nero and Decius are taken into account). So bad was Diocletian’s persecution that, before Anno Domini (AD) came into fashion for marking years, the Christians (especially of the Alexandrian Church) used Anno Martyrum (AM), or the Era of the Martyrs, to mark their years. The Anno Martyrum system began year 1 in 284 AD – the beginning point of Diocletian’s reign and persecution.

With this in mind, consider that Crispin and Crispinian were preaching the Christian faith rather effectively at this time in Gaul, an important territory of the Roman empire. It did not take long at all for some action to happen. In the year 285 AD (or the year 2 in the Anno Martyrum), Maximianus Herculius, who had been made a sort of co-emperor with Diocletian, called the two men before him. After his efforts to persuade them to give up the faith, they responded,

“Thy threats do not terrify us, for Christ is our life, and death is our gain. Thy rank and possessions are nought to us, for we have long before this sacrificed the like for the sake of Christ and rejoice in what we have done. If thou shouldst acknowledge and love Christ thou wouldst give not only all the treasures of this life, but even the glory of thy crown itself in order through the exercise of compassion to win eternal life.”

Maximianus handed them over to Rictiovarus, the Gallic governor, who had them tortured terribly – stretched on a rack and flesh torn, among other horrible inflictions. After all of this, he had millstones fastened to their necks and had them thrown into the Aisne River. Miraculously, they managed to swim to safety. The Roman Martyrology succinctly finishes the story: “after [these] horrible torments, they were put to the sword, and thus obtained the crown of martyrdom.”

The Catholic Encyclopedia questions some of the credibility of this story, since its sources may be somewhat unreliable. However, we must examine a certain important principle in the matter of saintly stories, since credibility will always loom as an issue in the stories of the obscure saints. I simply quote a section from St. Francis de Sales’ Treatise on the Love of God in which he defends the practice of believing holy stories:

“Charity willingly believeth all things; that is, it is not so quick to believe that any one is lying, and if there are no apparent marks of falsehood in things which are told, it makes no difficulty about believing them; but above all when they are things which exalt and magnify the love of God towards men, or the love of men towards God … in matter of religion, good souls have more sweetness in believing things in which there is more difficulty and admiration.” (Chapter XII)

By means of this argumentation, St. Francis de Sales was insisting that a certain miraculous story told in a homily by St. Bernard could be believed, even though he simply had no evidence whatsoever to prove it. We are in a similar situation. We’ve been handed a story of the miracles and martyrdoms of Crispin and Crispinian with only the written testimony of writers centuries later to show for it. But the good souls have more sweetness to believe stories such as these. Our charity willingly believes all of these things.

Thus,  I would suppose that we can accept the story handed onto us from the works of the Bollandists – but I’ll leave that up to the reader.

So, what if Crispin and Crispinian hadn’t fallen into obscurity? They are already known as patron saints of shoemakers, saddlers, and tanners. But their legacy is more than cobbling. While the modern imagination tends towards Shakespeare’s reference in “Henry V,” it turns out that this reference is not so far from the original spirit of these men. The Battle of Agincourt was a battle in which England triumphed against great odds over France in 1415 AD. But Saints Crispin and Crispinian in their own way triumphed against great odds in France (Gaul at their time), albeit in a spiritual battle for souls.

So let us hail them today as victors all the same! May St. Crispin and St. Crispinian pray for us!

Masses of Reparation for the Protestant Rebellion

Christian Renaissance Movement

Eamonn Clark

I have a request of the priests reading this blog. This October 31st and beyond, celebrate Masses with the intention of making amends for 500 years of doctrinal and moral chaos. Offer a Mass for Christian unity, perhaps even specifically for the conversion or downfall of all those voices which draw people away from the one true Faith and into the errors of Luther, Calvin, Zwingli, and beyond.

Our Lord wants such reparation and prayer. I know this because of the High Priestly Prayer (John 17: 1-26)… We should lament intensely the countless souls lost to the nonchalance and non-sacramentality of Protestantism. They are sheep who shepherd themselves, and thus, as we have seen now for five centuries, the errors multiply themselves, as if it were still the days of the Judges.

This anniversary is nothing to celebrate. It is one of the worst moments in the life of the Church. In fact, Our Lord was so concerned that not only did He inspire the Council of Trent, but He even sent Our Lady to the Americas, as if to make up for the numbers being lost in Europe. We should imitate such concern for Christian unity.

While the laity can (and should) pray and fast in reparation, the priest is in a special position to make such intercession. The sacrifice of Calvary perpetuated in the spirit of making amends for 500 years of heresy and spiritual malpractice is surely very pleasing to God… What graces might be occasioned by such a devotion, both for Christian unity, for conversion, and for the ministry of the priest himself? There is only one way to find out.

Perhaps there has been no better moment to offer such Masses than this coming anniversary. Do not let it pass by!

Note: CRM will be hosting a series of articles this year on the Reformation and Protestantism. Be sure to stop by or subscribe!

Capital Punishment and the Development of Doctrine

Christian Renaissance Movement

Eamonn Clark

Update: Dr. Feser presents a very similar argument here.

Currently, I am reading Dr. Ed Feser‘s recent book, By Man Shall His Blood Be Shed: A Catholic Defense of Capital Punishment (co-authored by Joseph Bessette). It was with great interest then that I read the Holy Father’s remarks on October 11 regarding the death penalty in a conference celebrating the 25th anniversary of the publication of the Catechism of the Catholic Church.

I do not wish to summarize the entire history of this topic within Catholic and Western thought, as any curious reader would profit much more by simply picking up Dr. Feser’s book, but instead, I want to address (briefly) the possibility of a “development of doctrine” which would say that capital punishment is intrinsically evil.

But first, let’s look at what the Holy Father actually said.

“[The death penalty] is in itself contrary to the Gospel.”

“However serious the crime committed may have been, the death penalty is inadmissible because it undermines the inviolability and dignity of the person.”

“We are not in the presence of some contradiction with the teaching of the past, because the defense of the dignity of human life from the first moment of conception until natural death has always been found in the teaching of the Church.”

“The harmonious development of doctrine, however, requires that we [now] leave out arguments which now appear decisively contrary to the new understanding of Christian truth.”

“Unfortunately, this extreme and inhumane remedy was also used in the Pontifical State, neglecting the primacy of mercy over justice. We assume responsibility for the past, and we recognize that those means were guided by a mentality more legalistic than Christian.”

This is a startling series of quotations, for several reasons.

First, the Holy Father, probably without realizing it, is accusing many of his real predecessors of using an “extreme and inhumane remedy,” thus “neglecting the primacy of mercy over justice,” which implies they “were guided by a mentality more legalistic than Christian.” This would, of course, include some popes who have been raised to the altars, even men such as the great St. Pius V. It is unlikely that the Holy Father really meant to condemn several saintly popes as impenitent murderers (or as hopelessly bad moralists suffering from invincible ignorance of their material sins), but that is the implication nonetheless.

Second, the Holy Father’s comments display a startling lack of awareness of the rehabilitative power of capital punishment. In fact, this is one of the traditional arguments put forth in favor of the death penalty: to know that one is about to die in a short while is a great help in coming to repentance. What else could focus a man’s mind more on the good of his soul? If imminent and certain death does not bring about repentance, we can be pretty sure that nothing will. Furthermore, while such criminals are locked up, how many more people might they kill, heaping even more sin onto their souls? For an example of the power the certainty of death has for occasioning conversion, one might look to the ministry of St. Joseph Cafasso, who turned several dozen men from hardened criminals petrified of death into virtuous souls equally resigned to live or die, sometimes hours before they were to be hanged… (St. Catherine of Siena and St. Vincent Palotti are other examples.) It was, in fact, the certain imminence of their deaths that softened them for the work of their chaplain-saint. Surely, they would have done much good in the world had they been set free, but then again, if such were done then there would no longer be a real threat of certain death in these cases (rendering the rehabilitation less likely), nor is this how justice works… It is unsuitable as a jurisprudential norm to allow men to walk free without facing their sentence simply because they appear to have become reformed (unless reform is conditionally a part of their sentence). Instead, converted inmates will make great citizens of the Kingdom which is not of this world – lest we forget, doing well in this life is not the ultimate point, as earthly life is not the greatest good. Human life is not entirely destroyed by bodily death. This must not be an afterthought in the discussion of capital punishment, as it is precisely the supernatural call to Beatitude which gives human life so much dignity even beyond our merely natural goodness as creatures.

Third, and most importantly, the Church has taught perennially, building upon the teaching of the Old Testament (in God’s own legislation) and the New Testament, and upon the timeless understanding of natural law that there is no injustice in a legitimate government administering capital punishment under certain circumstances, namely, the crime must really be proportionate with the penalty of death, and there is moral certitude (following due process) that this individual really committed such a crime. (We might also add other factors, such as avoiding doing more harm than good, or having suitable means of execution, but this will suffice for an exploration for now.) However, apparently, we now have “a new understanding of Christian truth” which can allow a development of doctrine that completely relegates capital punishment to the realm of intrinsic evils.

I suggest that this is absolutely impossible.

First of all, such a change would be abrupt. This is not how authentic developments occur, at least outside the context of an ecumenical council where a whole number of matters might be settled with uncharacteristic promptness. Rather, they naturally unfold over a long period of time. One might argue that the past two pontificates somewhat softened the attitude toward capital punishment, which is true, but 35 years is an unimpressive tenure for a doctrinal shift. A counterexample might be the teaching on lending at interest, which changed as slowly as its object changed (viz. the instrumental scope of currency). Another might be the Immaculate Conception, celebrated in the Church for centuries before slowly making its way into the universities for debate and finally, after several more centuries, onto the loggia of Bl. Pope Pius IX. More examples could be provided, especially in the field of bioethics. What makes an abupt change to be such a red flag is that the Church does not suddenly come up with ideas about doctrine; rather, the doctrine is there from the beginning and it is slowly unpacked by the faithful. This takes a long time.

With that, the second problem with this change would be that it finds no meaningful support in the Catholic moral tradition. As attentive readers of Prof. Feser’s book will see, the opposite is true – the Church teaches and has always taught that the death penalty is legitimate in principle because of its proportionality to certain crimes, among other reasons. This is especially true for St. Thomas, upon whose arguments much of the modern defense rests. What recent popes have done is little more than advise a restricted use of it, in keeping with their own prudential judgments about its efficacy and usefulness within a broader social context (and Cdl. Ratzinger reminded us that one may disagree with popes on this point). One might point out that the paragraphs in the Catechism which discuss the death penalty seem to insist on its use only when necessary for protecting others; while this is what the document says, (especially when it quotes Evangelium Vitae,) it does not discuss why on the level of principles of justice, only on the level of prudential judgments about “the common good” and how to be “more in conformity with the dignity of the human person” – presumably, only the person of the criminal… The dignity of the person or persons killed is not discussed, and such a counterweight must be included in such an examination of distributing proportionate punishment, as the CCC says in the paragraph immediately preceding. (See also the Roman Catechism on this point, issued by Pope St. Pius V and re-issued by Pope St. Pius X.) Also, for what it’s worth, John Paul II beatified a certain Pope Pius IX. Certainly, the former knew of the latter’s firm support and use of capital punishment…  We ought to conclude then, in keeping with the hermeneutic of continuity, that John Paul II meant only to advise such a use of capital punishment in accord with the teaching which preceded it – that capital punishment may be warranted even without the need for protecting others (which is not strictly denied by the CCC) – and thus it is only a prudential judgment about its use, rather than a denial of the justice of its use in circumstances which do not necessitate its use for the protection of others, that we find in EV and the CCC. (We should also remember that catechisms, while certainly important, are not infallible documents, as Cdl. Ratzinger himself pointed out after the CCC’s publication!)

The third and most important item to discuss is the obvious one: such a change would actually constitute a reversal of past teaching, despite the Holy Father’s words that this is untrue. The Church has certainly grown in its understanding of human dignity in various ways throughout the ages, but there can be no realization about human dignity that would render capital punishment illicit. This would theoretically be possible if the Church had never actually formulated a teaching in favor of capital punishment, instead merely tolerating its use without meaningful comment. But since this is not the case, there can be no such change. Some people might be confused by this… Let’s consider another example. Suppose Pope Benedict XVII in the year 2078 decides, “The Church has evolved in Her understanding of the dignity and power of Baptism to the point where we realize that there is really no need for Confession.” One might very easily map the words of Pope Francis onto the same idea of this fictional Benedict XVII – mercy, legalism, development, apology, etc. Since this is a development of the doctrine on Baptism, how could it contradict anything but past doctrines on Baptism? The reason is very simple: doctrines do not live in bubbles. They must fit together with all other authentic doctrines. If a new doctrine on Baptism implies a contradiction of the doctrine on Confession, then the new doctrine on Baptism is wrong. If a new doctrine on human dignity implies a contradiction of the doctrine on capital punishment, then the new doctrine on human dignity is wrong. We do have a doctrine on capital punishment, as Dr. Feser shows brilliantly in his book, and the attempt to raise human dignity to such a point as it becomes absolutely inviolable would indeed imply a contradiction of that doctrine and thus would be erroneous. It would also imply that God legislated immorality in the Old Testament (ex. Leviticus 20:10) and that St. Paul confirmed immorality in the New Testament (Romans 13:4).

It will be very interesting to see how all this unfolds, or if anything even happens at all.

It is perhaps more important than ever to be training dogmaticians and moralists… Let’s pray and fast, too.

Stay tuned… and be sure to subscribe!

Our Lady of Fatima, pray for us!

Main image: Portait of Pius V, pope; El Greco, c. 1600-1610 (oil on canvas)

Waiting in the Wings

Christian Renaissance Movement1 Comment

Eamonn Clark

I thought it might be nice to share some of what CRM’s itinerary is for the next year. Here are several items we have on deck (in no particular order):

Is Internet Piracy Stealing?

The New Albigensianism: Parts IV & V

Reflections of a New Priest

Limbo: A Sensible and Comforting Doctrine

Some New Solutions to the Abiathar Problem

What Heaven is Not

Moses: The Key to Revealed Religion

The Men Caught in Adultery

A series on the Reformation (500 years)

Why the Ascension Makes Sense

What is a Spiritual Communion?

Probabilism, Probabiliorism, and Equiprobabilism: What’s a Conscience to Do?

…And More!

Stay tuned, hit that subscribe button, and be sure to share.

 

 

Will the Real St. Matthew Please Stand Up?

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Fr. Peter Gruber

“That finger of Jesus, pointing at Matthew. That’s me. I feel like him. Like Matthew.” Pope Francis remarked in his 2013 interview with Fr. Antonio Spadaro, S.J.

“It is the gesture of Matthew that strikes me: he holds on to his money as if to say, ‘No, not me! No, this money is mine.’ Here, this is me, a sinner on whom the Lord has turned his gaze. And this is what I said when they asked me if I would accept my election as pontiff.”

In Caravaggio’s The Calling of St. Matthew, Pope Francis found the perfect image to express his own surprise at being uniquely called by Christ to serve the Church as supreme pontiff.

But, we have a problem. Which figure in the painting is St. Matthew?

(If you haven’t already done so, take a moment to give the painting a good look and try to figure it out for yourself.)

Besides the faintest loop over Christ’s head, there are no halos in this painting. Nor should there be – St. Matthew was only Matthew the tax-collector at this point. Here he is, in the midst of his sin and in corrupt company. Matthew has just as much chance of being called out of this situation as any of the five guys in the tax office.

But which one is he?


Option 1: The Bearded Man

At first glance, Matthew appears to be the man with long beard. His eyes show surprise, his face is illuminated, his finger seems to point toward his breast. And, maybe just to help us out, he has a distinguishing coin in his hat and a right hand fingering money on the table. If there is anyone in this painting who is reacting as the one who is called, it’s this guy.

bearded-guy

There are two other reasons why the bearded man is the best candidate for Matthew.

First, Caravaggio did not paint The Calling by itself. With this painting in the Contarelli Chapel in the San Luigi dei Francesi Church in Rome, Caravaggio painted two other scenes from the life of St. Matthew: The Inspiration of St. Matthew and The Martyrdom of St. Matthew. In both of these adjacent paintings, Matthew is depicted as a man with a sizable beard.

The second reason concerns some of the interesting history going on at that point. Before this was painted, there was a passing fear that France might go the way of the Church of England. This fear partially subsided when the Huguenot (Protestant) Henry IV converted back to Catholicism upon taking the French throne in 1593. Caravaggio was commissioned six years later to paint three works for the church of San Luigi dei Francesi (St. Louis of the French). To flatter the now-Catholic king of France (and appease his patron), Caravaggio painted St. Matthew to resemble Henry IV. (You can see the bearded resemblance here.)

But that might not be the whole story.


Option 2: The Hunched-Over Man

People make a big deal about Christ’s pointing gesture just below the window in the painting. His hand is unusually relaxed for a definitive signaling of direction. The reason for this is very likely that Caravaggio is alluding to a more famous painting: The Creation of Adam by Michelangelo.

finger-edited

fingers

Michelangelo’s Adam is depicted in the Sistine Chapel fresco in the moment just before his animation, with his finger less than an inch from that of God. Michelangelo, instead of showing an Adam already filled with life, depicts the precise moment prior to his ensoulment with all the drama of a limp wrist.

Like Michelangelo, Caravaggio may not be capturing the moment of the calling of Matthew; he might very well be capturing the precise moment before the calling of Matthew. The finger of Christ the New Adam has yet to be fully extended, the call is only just about to happen. The whole painting is in that dramatic tension of the moment before the call.

In that case, Matthew is not the bearded man whose face is fully illuminated; Matthew is the man whose face is about to be illuminated – the smooth-faced hunched-over man.

hunched-over-guy

And here, before the call reaches him – before the light reaches his face – Matthew is still a sinner, still a tax-collector, still fingering his coins and gripping his money bag. The bearded figure to his left anticipates the perceived direction of Christ’s soon-to-be-extended finger, pointing perhaps not to his own breast but to the hunched over man next to him. This man’s face, only half-illuminated by the light that comes from Christ’s entrance, still intently looks down to the table; he has but to lift his head an inch to make eye contact with Christ. Will his eyes meet the gaze that tests mortal men and will he remain the same? Will he respond to the call?

 

So, which one is Matthew?

It’s still not entirely clear. It can go either way.

But that’s probably how Caravaggio wants it to be. Caravaggio’s art was at the cutting edge of the subjective turn of modern thought. As a controversial artist of his time, he departed from the idea that art is exclusively at the service of the true, good, and beautiful, and turned instead toward an innovative realism. (See our earlier post on what makes art good.)

Part of Caravaggio’s goal is to pull the viewer into the painting. He wants this ambiguity; he wants you to be asking these questions. And he knows that things are not so cut and dry. Christ entered a world in chaos, a world engulfed in sin. He calls us out of that darkness and into His light.

Turning again to the painting, if we go to the source of Christ’s call and look above His not-yet-fully-outstretched right hand, we find ourselves at the base of a cross (the fourfold window pane forms a cross). Here we are meant to ponder Christ’s own cross. And at the cross, darkness appears to triumph over light, chaos over order, death over life. It is precisely at that moment when Christ conquers. It is from that cross that Christ calls His disciples, and it is to that cross that Christ calls His disciples. Like Matthew (whoever he is), we are drawn up while we are still sinners into the cross, into the central mystery of our faith.

Pope Francis (himself seeming to weigh in on Matthew as the bearded man) hits on what our response should be to Christ’s call: “I am a sinner, but I trust in the infinite mercy and patience of our Lord Jesus Christ, and I accept in a spirit of penance.”

Independent of who we decide Matthew to be in this painting, our response to Christ should be the same as that of Pope Francis. We are that sinner uniquely called by Christ.

How will we respond to His call?

 

Main image: “The Calling of St. Matthew,” Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, 1599-1600

Even More on Theological Censures

Christian Renaissance Movement1 Comment

Eamonn Clark

Today’s post on censures, I am discovering in my private research, was a little bit lacking in precision and scope.

It could be labeled with several censures of its own, perhaps!

With that, I will provide a few additional distinctions and corrections (some of which have been added to the original post – email subscribers, I’m looking at you!), and some links for your perusal. My posts are certainly not exhaustive of this rather complicated subject. I encourage you to do your own research on this stuff and to get back to me and tell me my two posts are [insert Latin word here] and why.

Theological notes: a system of categorizing theological propositions according to their level of authority. Take a look at this useful chart, which also describes censures which might be fairly attached (and the sin which goes along with it, supposing sufficient knowledge and freedom in what one is doing). There ten notes, ranging from dogma to probable opinion.

Opinio tolerata: a tolerated opinion which is not probable (having significant evidence in favor of its truth). It could be called an eleventh theological note. Pious legends would come under this category, along with something like, “This was the veil of the Virgin Mary.”

De fide: There are three classes of de fide propositions. The first is de fide divina et ecclesiastica/Catholica (divine and ecclesiastical/Catholic faith), which is also simply and properly called “dogma.” Second is de fide ecclesiastica definita (definite ecclesiastical faith). The third is de fide divina (divine faith). The first kind of de fide proposition is that which is both revealed directly by God and has been solemnly declared as such by the Church. An example is, “Priests can confect the Eucharist.” The second category of de fide proposition, definite ecclesiastical faith, is a solemn declaration of the Church which, while infallible, is not dogmatic. In this case, God reveals through the Magisterium in a binding way without constituting a distinct item within the deposit of faith. One example is the sacramental efficacy of receiving Holy Communion under one species. Another, I suggest, would be the canonization of saints – a post is forthcoming on this interesting question. (For more on ecclesiastical faith, which is somewhat of a controverted topic, click here.) The third is what is revealed by God but not solemnly defined by the Church, often because there has been no significant controversy and therefore no need for such a definition. An example might be, “The Holy Spirit was present in a special way in the Upper Room at Pentecost.” The first two kinds of de fide propositions are matter for heresy. Contradicting immediately and directly (viz., without a mixture of any natural or derivative propositions) the first kind is heresy simply speaking, and with the second kind it is heresy against ecclesiastical faith. The third kind is matter for error in faith, as opposed to error in theology (which is simply a misapplication of certain principles – like the validity of the vernacular Novus Ordo).

De fide doctrines on morals: It seems difficult to speak about morals in a de fide way outside of the plain sense of the Ten Commandments due to their complexity and relation with natural truths. I would love to find some sources that explore this topic more in-depth.

Different lists of censures: There seems to be some differences between the old Catholic Encyclopedia’s enumeration and description of censures and Fr. Cartechini’s (the table of theological notes), even just regarding the teachings themselves (first category). Perhaps there is more than one way to skin a cat – or label a bad theological idea – which might depend on the purpose and resources of the body issuing the censures.

Maybe it is time to bring back these old distinctions and the discussions surrounding their particulars. Maybe it is time for the United States especially to have an operational Inquisition – that is, a canonical court specifically designed to investigate credible charges of heresy and error. The USCCB sort of has this in its Doctrine Committee, but maybe they could “turn up the volume.” The system we have now seems to provide too little too late.

Just some thoughts.

 

Heterodox Does Not Mean Heretical

Christian Renaissance Movement1 Comment

Eamonn Clark

Update: See Dr. Ed Peters take on this issue (in a better way, taking up the issue of “refraining from proclaiming truth”) here.

In an earlier post I examined the beleaguered (and yes, still deserving of charity) Fr. James Martin, SJ’s denunciation of the rash use of the label “heretic,” together with some extremely suspicious Christology.

I actually agree with him regarding his claim that he is not a heretic (at least according to law, which involves outward signs revealing what is within the soul). This is with respect to his Christology and even with his homosexualist agenda. Nor does his shocking (but not quite totally direct) endorsement of apostasy rise to the level of “heresy,” I suggest. Of course, I also think these things are awful and deserve serious attention from the appropriate ecclesiastical authorities. Until such a time as those offices give that attention, and as long as “Martin Mania” continues, may I offer some selected thoughts on how to navigate this alarming controversy and propose the wide-spread resurgence of the use of a timeless treasure of the Church – hopefully in an “official” way?

Theological censures.

A theological censure is a kind of warning – or judgment – about a teaching or a written work. A local bishop, a special commission, a Roman congregation, or the pope himself might issue a censure. A censure says that a teaching or work is heterodox (at odds with the truth in any of a variety of ways) and/or dangerous to the moral life of those who might encounter it. Works that receive bad enough censures might be put on an index of forbidden literature, and teachings might be condemned in the form of a syllabus. Theological censures are still used today but not nearly as much as they used to be. While there is some danger with them (such as descending into incessant hair-splitting or losing a sense of theology’s purpose, such as was happening with the overuse of manuals), it seems an opportune moment to begin at least talking about popularizing this tool once more.

Suppose a Jesuit writes a book with imbalanced emphases, a bold assertion about rewording the Catechism, and generally scandalous phrases which tend to affirm sinners in their sin. What censures might be relevant?

There are three broad classes of censures which could possibly be placed on any work, or even propositions within a work. The first regards the importance of the teaching’s object itself, the second regards the mode of expression of that teaching, and the third regards the moral character of the teaching itself and its foreseen practical consequences for morals. (There is another means of categorizing censures, viz., according to the relevant “theological note”, but this is the simpler method and allows an easier way to admit the third category mentioned here.)

The first category is where we find the term “hæretica,” meaning “heretical.” It is the highest censure that can be placed on a teaching or work. A heretical teaching is one which directly and immediately contradicts a doctrine “de fide” (or dogma), a truth revealed by God which must be believed (“credenda”) with divine and Catholic faith. To say, “God is four Persons,” or “Christ had only a human nature,” or “the Eucharist is not substantially Christ,” or “the Commandments are impossible even for one in grace,” would be heretical. It is very, very difficult to earn this stamp of disapproval. The too frequent use of the word “heresy” is a bit like the casual use of bad language – it empties it of its power, and it should be discouraged. It is quite difficult to commit the sin of heresy, and it is even more difficult to commit the outward crime which can be judged by the Church publicly as such. The latter requires outward, explicit, and obstinate confession of a proposition directly contrary to a de fide truth/dogma.

Are there dogmas regarding morals? Yes. I contend it is dogmatically certain that murder is immoral, as it is expressly condemned in Scripture and denounced by the ordinary magisterium of the Church in an infallible way, that is, consistently and universally throughout the entire history of the Church. It would be heretical to support murder as such. On the other hand, it would be more difficult to say that the immorality of abortion is a dogma, as it is at least somewhat debatable that the ordinary magisterium has consistently and universally enough maintained that unborn life in all its stages is truly human and therefore inviolable. The naturally available truth of the humanity of the embryo, now completely evident, confirms that abortion does indeed constitute murder. But because we have to put these two truths together, one which is a dogma and one which is a natural truth related to it, to say abortion is immoral is not, in the strictest sense, heretical. One might put it in one of two categories: “erronea” (erroneous), supposing the humanity of the embryo is or was a sufficiently doubtfully applied natural truth, unlike an innocent adult (which, if taken away, would leave the 5th Commandment void of content altogether), or “hæresi proxima” (next to heresy or approaching heresy), if it is the case that one sees the humanity of the embryo as having been insufficiently doubtful to warrant the need for an additional truth on top of what is already implicitly contained in the Commandment. Either way, this is still a terrible label… To be in an error of faith, or to be next to heresy, should be frightening to the one putting forth the teaching, as it is still mortal sin. (Do take a look at the theological notes chart here, with more examples and explanations for all this.) Error regards things which still must be held (“tenenda”) by Catholics. The support of the legal recognition of same-sex unions as marriage would fall in one of these lower (but still binding) categories… It involves a dogma and a naturally available truth (called a “certa”), or it involves a truth immediately derived from the dogma which is “proxima fidei” (next to faith and commonly believed to be revealed, but without ever being the object of a formal enough definition). The dogma is that sacramental marriage is between a man and a woman, and the natural or derivative truth is that men are not women (and vice versa). Supporting homosexual marriage in law would be contradicting either a certa (mix of a truth from natural reason and a truth “de fide”) or to contradict the immediate derivative of the dogma itself. Heterodox? Yes. Heretical? No. (I tend to favor the label “erroneous,” but that’s too much to get into here.) And the vaguer the language becomes, the more difficult it is to levy a high censure rightly. To say something like, “There can be true love in a homosexual act,” is surely wrong in many ways, but it is vague enough to be far from deserving that worst of labels, “heresy.”

Returning to the example of abortion, the claim that so-called medical abortion or craniotomy (both of which destroy the child to save the mother) are licit procedures, given that such a condemnation is difficult to reconcile with the general affirmation of the morality of self-defense, could be called “errori proxima” (next to error): the contrary is able to be deduced from the right teaching on abortion. It would be “temeratia” (rash) to assert that the vast majority of abortions are only venial sins on the part of the mother due to the distress of the situation. In no way is this clear, as the natural truths involved are not at all available to the one who makes this claim (so one must wonder at the reasoning), and so this is also at odds with the common opinion of theologians.

Propositions which just seem like heresy or error but can’t quite be charged with the other offenses might be labeled “sapiens hæresi/errori” (smacking of heresy/error) or even “suspecta de hæresi/errori” (suspected of heresy/error).

There are other qualifying labels which might be added, according to what kind of truth is being contradicted (Scriptural, credal, moral, etc.), but this will do for our investigation of the first category.

The second regards the way a teaching is put forth. Even true teachings could be censured in this way. A proposition may be “ambigua” (ambiguous), for example, leaving itself wide open to bad interpretation. “Protestants should be welcomed into the Catholic Church,” might be an example… Surely, entrance into full communion should be done in a welcoming way, but we should not simply begin treating Protestants as part of the Catholic Church.

Statements might also be “captiosa” (captious), “male sonans” (evil-sounding), or, my favorite in this category, “piarum aurium offensiva” (offensive to pious ears). The first uses unobjectionable language to forward an objectionable agenda (“Priests might be allowed to marry one day.”) The second is when inappropriate words are used to express truths (use your imagination). The third simply shocks the sensibilities of Catholics, though it may well be true. (See my post on Jesus and the Aliens, which arguably comes under this category. I claim there that our sacramental economy could not incorporate extraterrestrial life because aliens are not descended from Adam. The short and “offensive” version is, “Jesus can’t save aliens.”)

The third category describes what a teaching does that is morally wrong or encourages that is morally wrong. They are rather self-explanatory. The category includes but is not limited to “subsannativa religionis” (derisive of religion), “decolorativa canodris ecclesiæ” (defacing the beauty of the Church), “subversia hierarchiæ” (subversive of the hierarchy), “arrogans” (arrogant), “scandelosa,” “perniciosa,” “periculosa in moribus” (scandalous, pernicious, dangerous to morals), which might include “blasphema” (leading to blasphemy), “magica” (leading to sorcery), “idolatra” (leading to idolatry), etc., etc.

Hopefully this will serve as a decent primer on this important and seemingly neglected area of Church governance and teaching.

What censures might some of Fr. James Martin, SJ’s countless articles, tweets, books, and speeches rightly be labeled with? Many, for sure, but that would be for the lawful authorities of the Church to determine and pronounce. Though I do not think that anything I have seen warrants that highest and worst label hæretica.

But that is surely nothing to brag about.

Comments are closed. See follow up here.

 

Main image: Detail of an icon of Nicaea I

In Defense of Bad Priests

Christian Renaissance Movement

Eamonn Clark

I recently prepared third graders for their First Holy Communion. Going through the story of the Last Supper several times, I noticed that they had a fascination with a certain Apostle… You guessed it – Judas. A fascination with such a character is understandable, as it seems rather out of place in a story which one would think is supposed to be exclusively upholding models of virtue. This is not unlike the very grown-up temptation to expect moral perfection from Catholic clergy. After all, they are supposed to be models of virtue, right?

Yes, they certainly are, and extra scrutiny is rightly deserved because we do indeed have the fullness of truth and grace available to us. But here are the facts. Our Lord chose losers, dummies, and wicked sinners as the foundation of His Church. Of the original Twelve, ten were ambitious cowards. One of those ten was also arrogant (Peter). The eleventh was just ambitious (John). And the twelfth one was a greedy traitor. (Later on He would also call a terrorist to this elite group.)

The place to start looking at the failure of any priesthood is a comparison with the first four failed priesthoods, and the first successful one: Adam, Aaron, Nadab, Abihu, and Melchizedek, respectively. (Others such as Abel and Noah and Abraham offered sacrifices, like priests, but they were not called by the name “priest.” More could be said about their sacrifices as well.)

Adam was the high priest of nature, called to guard and serve the Garden of Eden and his wife Eve at his own expense. He ought to have put himself in front of her and the serpent, but he shrinks away from his duty. He stands next to her (as Eve “turned to her husband” to give him the fruit) and watches this calamity take place. The serpent goes after Eve first, because he knows that she is easier to trick and that she might be able to trick her husband. When confronted by God, Eve blames the serpent, and Adam blames Eve: there is no responsibility taken.

The Devil often seeks to harm God’s priests through the very people they are called to protect. In this case, Adam’s own fear and self-interest allow his beloved to fall, and then she takes him with her – for what husband would want to have a wife estranged from him, as Eve surely would have been without Adam following her into sin? And yet they become estranged from each other anyway, needing to hide themselves with the flesh of animals… The first time blood is shed in Scripture, it is to cover up the sins of our first parents. A sign of things to come, for sure.

The next failed priesthood is Aaron’s. While Moses is busy with spiritual matters on Mount Sinai, the people grumble against him. The patience required to receive the Covenant is too spiritual for them, and so they threaten to leave the mountain in protest. Aaron is concerned about such a loss of numbers – he is afraid of what Moses will think. He has the people give him their gold, and he makes for them an idol which provides them with the experience of God they wanted: an unchallenging, unspiritual, ungodly experience. But the people are happy, and they stay put for a while, high on their own erroneous ideas about the worship of God. Aaron saved the day. When Moses returns with righteous fury, Aaron explains, like Adam did before God, that it was not his fault – it was the people’s and the furnace’s. More shirking of responsibility. (Moses gives them the proper experience of the god Aaron made for them when he ground it down, threw it in the water, and made the people drink. Like a good priest, he teaches them that a dead god gives even less life than water: it cannot save.)

Unlike Adam, Aaron’s ambitions were totally worldly. Instead of trying to become like God as a direct opponent, he simply wants to be the hero of God’s chosen people. Aaron wants just a little bit too much of their attention… He is not really after the gold, but what lies behind the gold – the esteem of men. That is what gives gold its value, after all.

Nadab and Abihu were Aaron’s sons. They violated the code of the Lord’s sanctuary by bringing unholy fire into the Tent of Meeting. This strange fire was deeply repugnant to the Lord, and so He slew them where they stood. Our Lord will only have sacred heat and light dwell within His holy place. Though profane fire may sustain bodily life, only sacred fire can sustain the life of grace.

The first successful priesthood is that of Melchizedek, whom Abraham meets after his battles. His is a totally spiritual and eternal priesthood, offering bread and wine and accepting the tithes owed to him for his work. He does not ask for money, he simply receives it. He is a priest not because of his family stock, like the Levites, but because of his charity. He gives to God first, then he receives what is rightfully his from men. He does not go looking for greatness: he simply is great.

Judas wraps up all of the failures of earlier priests in himself and makes them even worse. He is unwilling to do the work of a priest, putting himself in the place of Christ over and over again for the salvation of souls, standing in the way of the Devil’s reach of the weak, even though he would not have been alone in this task, unlike Adam. He trades the incarnate Lord not for the esteem of men, but for money itself. The purifying fires of the grace welling up in the Eucharistic Lord are traded for the fires of the foundry which purified the silver he would take as payment for his betrayal and would later throw into the Temple to try to buy back that grace. He takes into his body the blessed fruits of that very first celebration of Holy Mass which he was simultaneously endowed with the awesome power himself to perpetuate, as a recapitulation and elevation of Melchizedek’s priesthood, and then invites in the Devil to contradict it all. Though the accidents of bread and wine sustained Judas’ bodily life, the spirit within him died because of the rejection of the grace within the Lord’s Body and Blood – true food and true drink which preserve from everlasting death.

What greater human evil is there than the evil found in Judas on Holy Thursday? And yet that very night, Our Lord bowed before him to wash his feet, and He even personally called him “friend.” It is not unfair to say that, in a way, God loved Judas more than anyone else in human history, for there has never been a fouler human being to love. In the midst of this supreme wretchedness, Christ left us a memorial of His own greatness.

We know how the human story turns out. Judas despairs of the very mercy he was shortly supposed to be empowered to bring to others in the sacrament of confession. He attempts to slay himself (though perhaps did not succeed, and received even more time to repent), as if the death of the Lord had not been enough payment for his sin… No, Judas saw himself as so great that he believed his sin was unforgivable. “What a fool I have been,” he uttered. Yet this foolish failure brought about the culmination of our very redemption. Without Judas, there is no Passion, Death, or Resurrection. There is also not the greatest condescension of love ever shown by God. Deicide is not therefore justified, but God’s choice to allow a bad priest to exist in the Church is.

Meanwhile, Peter weeps in contrition and makes amends with “the man” he denied knowing, within earshot and within hours of having heard this prophesied. He left that “strange fire” in the courtyard, from where he watched the Lord shiver in the cold and dark of the prison cell, and he leaves the slave girl before whom he cowered in fear. Behold, the Prince of Apostles, who would eventually learn that taking up the sword is better left to those who persecute Christ than those who defend Him, and who would finally end his life as a willing victim upon a cross. The priesthood of Peter was in as sorry a state as the priesthood of Judas; the difference was repentance. Yet again, Our Lord shows his greatness through the failures of one of His hand-picked dispensers of grace.

The Church on Earth is institutional and hierarchical by nature, because human beings require such an order so as to avoid repeating the tragic error of the men of Babel who tried by their own powers to cooperate to reach up to Heaven. The Church on Earth is also sinful by nature, because it is populated by human beings – even in its hierarchy. It has been so from the moment of its inception, and this is by design. No, God does not want bad clergy in the same way He wants good clergy, but He does want to permit them to exist for now. He knew Judas would betray Him, and He knew all the clerical pedophiles, heretics, and antinomians of our own day would do the same. While they betray the Lord by selling Him for popularity or money, as they shrink from their duty to stand in front of Satan and then blame the weak or the natural insufficiency of their means, as they profane the Eucharist through indifference toward it, they repeatedly show the power of Christ in His Church: even through all this, there is victory waiting.

There has always been a crack in the foundation, there has always been chaff in the wheat, and yet there has always been grace available through these men nonetheless, as it is God’s own power which is the source of their priesthood and thus the source of their power to give grace – “ex opere operato.” God shows His majesty in the midst of this weakness and wretchedness. And sometimes He even brings these men out of their shameful disgrace and elevates them to the profoundest heights of sanctity, a feat which must be marveled at. There is true hope of Heaven for every bad priest in this world. Christ calls each of them “friend.”

Perspective is important. “There is nothing new under the sun,” as Qoheleth reminds us. We would do well to recall more frequently the beginnings of the Church to understand Her challenges today. (A reading of the disturbing history of ancient Israel would help too.) Whatever cleric is the object of concern – parish priest, celebrity priest, local bishop, curial official, pope… If there really is sin there, realize that it is just business as usual. The Barque of Peter has always leaked in the storm while the inept crew runs about helplessly, and yet it continues to float safely toward the harbor. Our Lord can guide it even in His sleep.

Let’s pray and fast for all priests, especially those who need it most.

Our Lady, Queen of the Clergy, pray for us!

 

Main image: Pope John XII, who was killed in the act of adultery by a vengeful husband

Priests and the Free Exchange of Ideas: A Closer Look at the Garvey Statement

Christian Renaissance Movement

Eamonn Clark

President Garvey of the Catholic University of America has made some excellent administrative decisions during his tenure, most famously regarding the implementation of single-sex dorms. The university itself is a wonderful place doing wonderful things, and I have had the privilege of visiting many times for various reasons.

It was with some surprise and disappointment then, that I read the most recent press release from CUA.

From the outset, and with the due charity everyone owes toward beleaguered Jesuit Fr. James Martin (which I hope readers will also sincerely extend to this deeply troubled man), I wish to say that I agree wholeheartedly with the decision of CUA’s diocesan seminary, Theological College, and its rector to cancel the invitation to this priest who has undoubtedly become the most famous American cleric without a miter. The “rap-sheet” of Fr. Martin is, at this point, enormous to the point of tragic hilarity. From the unrelenting LGBT advocacy, to his quasi-heretical Christology, to suggesting that apostasy could be demanded by Christ, there is perhaps no active cleric in the United States more inappropriate to host at a seminary speaking engagement.

Notice that last bit: a seminary speaking engagement.

President Garvey released a statement yesterday distancing both himself and CUA from TC’s decision to withdraw the invitation. In part, it reads:

The campaigns by various groups to paint Fr. Martin’s talk as controversial reflect the same pressure being applied by the left for universities to withdraw speaker invitations. Universities and their related entities should be places for the free, civil exchange of ideas. Our culture is increasingly hostile to this idea. It is problematic that individuals and groups within our Church demonstrate this same inability to make distinctions and to exercise charity.

Before analyzing, let’s also recall an interview with Crux where President Garvey explained this attitude toward selecting university speakers:

That’s a long wind-up, to the following answer: When we invite someone to be a commencement speaker, the university is saying something. That’s why the American Catholic bishops say that Catholic universities shouldn’t give honors, platforms, and awards to people whose view is at odds with the views of the Catholic Church.

What they are saying literally is that universities like us shouldn’t endorse people like that. We should not say “Yay, Barack Obama, you support enshrining the ‘right’ to kill the unborn.” We shouldn’t give him honorary degrees or hold him up to our students as our example.

On the other hand, I would be perfectly happy to invite President Obama to Catholic University, even to talk about abortion if he wanted to. What better place than to have a conversation with the President about an issue that is important to Catholics and others? We’re just not going to give him a prize for taking a position that we condemn.

While there might be many things to say about President Garvey’s press release and this interview excerpt (as well as the rest of it), I will limit myself to two observations:

1. Invitations to speak at major university functions are honors or awards – the sort a person might put on his or her resumé – and people are right to zero in on major moral failures of people being thus honored or awarded, especially at Catholic universities which are held to a higher standard.

2. A seminary is not a university.

The first point is hopefully not too contentious. We can certainly draw a distinction between a commencement address and a presentation or panel that exists for the sake of education within the context of a university setting. To cite Ex Corde Ecclesiae against holding a forum that hosts someone antagonistic to the Faith would be questionable, provided there were certain checks and balances in place to ensure an appropriate context for discussion and exploration of ideas which are at odds with the Church’s teaching.

The second point is, unfortunately, a distinction which President Garvey did not seem to care to explore, despite himself lamenting a dearth of distinction-making. While TC does operate under CUA and therefore is technically part of the university (as a “related entity”), the seminary itself exists for a much narrower purpose than the university at large, and thus it is governed by certain people and certain principles which ensure the successful fulfillment of that unique purpose: the formation of Catholic priests.

It beggars belief that Fr. Martin would be in a position to help forward any Catholic seminary’s distinct mission. In fact, had the invitation not been rescinded, it would have spoken volumes on how TC sees its purpose: remember, a major speaking engagement is a kind of award, and people are right to question awarding people with major public flaws. What would it say about the seminary’s curriculum? Its formators? Its sending bishops? Etc.

Mr. Garvey’s criticism would have been more on-point had Fr. Martin’s invitation to speak had come from the university’s sociology department, for example, if they were hosting a panel on gender studies. However, given that clerics represent the Church in a unique way, this too, I suggest, would have been inappropriate. Even if a priest with an opposing view (which accurately represents the Church’s teaching) were invited, such a panel would give vulnerable young minds the impression that the Church does not know what to say about these topics and that one priest’s opinion is just as good as any other’s. On the other hand, to take Mr. Garvey’s example, everyone knows that Obama is pro-choice. A pro-choice speech from him, in the right arena at a Catholic university, would not be particularly harmful in itself. But if Fr. So-and-So, “priest in good standing and whose ambiguous writings on abortion are approved by his superiors,” is invited to present a mildly pro-choice position, then we have a major problem.

Just as a seminary is not a university, a priest is not a layman. He is called to a higher standard, as Canons 273, 276 §1, and 277 §2 point out. (Perhaps some of these laws might make for a fitting addition to any Catholic university’s speaker invitation policy.) A priest who misrepresents the Church’s teaching – or even inordinately under-represents it – would be much more damaging to students than an openly anti-Catholic government official.

Seminarians and priests returning as alumni do not need the same kind of “free, civil exchange of ideas” which a Catholic university in general might benefit from. What such men need is the true doctrine of the Church presented clearly. They need insights into good, solid pastoral praxis. They need accessible summaries of critical issues in those sciences connected with pastoral work. They need emphatic encouragement to keep going in the face of cultural and personal opposition, and even worse, indifference. Anything else is almost guaranteed to be a waste of their time. It is quite doubtful that Fr. Martin was prepared to offer any of these things to the good men returning to celebrate 100 years of Theological College’s existence, and thus Fr. McBrearity’s decision as rector to disinvite him was certainly correct, with or without public outcry. There was nothing to gain by going through with the invitation, and there was so much to lose. While President Garvey thinks that an important principle has been undermined on his campus, this is simply not the case. On the contrary, several have been upheld.

Comments are closed.

Main image: CUA in 1920

Sancti Obscuri – St. Porphyrius (September 15)

jacobhgruber

Jacob Gruber

​If you were asked off the top of your head to name five saints of the Catholic Church, who would come to mind? St. Therese of Lisieux, St. Padre Pio, or St. Francis of Assisi? Perhaps St. John Paul II or Mother Teresa? But what about St. Euphemia or St Paphnutius? Surely St. Iphigenia made it somewhere on the list?

​If these latter names don’t ring any Church bells for you, this new column may be right for you. It’s no secret that we have “saint celebrities.” If you’ve lost an item, you think to pray to St. Anthony, not St. Abundantius. If you want help in discernment, you probably prefer St. Therese’s roses to St. Rosalia’s. But what about these other saints? Don’t they have something to teach us, to inspire us with, to remind us?

​This new column, “Sancti Obscuri,” will look at different saints who, for one reason or another, have become obscure to the modern Catholic imagination. The posts won’t be exhaustive, considering how historical obscurity tends to coincide with a paucity of source material. But if these forgotten men and women have received the crown of sainthood, then they have a story worth hearing. (They know something of Thomas Jefferson’s exasperation in this old “Simpsons” episode, “Mr. Lisa Goes to Washington.”)

Our first “sanctus obscurus,” St. Porphyrius, shares a feast day with Our Lady of Sorrows on September 15. In his life, however, he would not have known what to do with a celebration of a “Lady of Sorrows.” By profession, he was a comedian, a mimic, a famous jester. He was a prevailing voice of the remnant of paganism in the post-Constantine Roman Empire, offering to those who hadn’t accepted Christianity a sufficient mockery of its tenets. People expected comedy and corruption from him, certainly not conversion. Yet, as we will see, he was a man who, within a day, went from mimicry to martyrdom, profanation to profession. Before we tell his story, some background is in line.

His story begins best with the story of Julian the Apostate, who, given the spoiler alert in his name, didn’t care for Christianity very much. In the years following the death of Constantine the Great in 337AD, a barrage of complicated politics had plagued the leadership of the vast Roman Empire. Fast forward a couple of decades, and in 361AD one “Flavius Claudius Julianus,” a nephew of Constantine, arose as sole emperor. His reign was to be short (only 20 months), but not without activity.

Although Christianity for almost 50 years had enjoyed political freedom and support from the emperor, the rule of Julian loomed as a serious threat. Though he was a Christian for the first 20 years of his life, he came to reject the Lord and choose instead the “way of Helios” (see his Letter 47). Julian the Apostate envisioned a return to the Roman paganism of old, a religious atmosphere marked by highly syncretistic polytheism, unified, as it were, under the banner of being ‘not Christian.’

When Julian heard of the fame of Porphyrius the Mimic whose specialty was mocking Christians, he had him brought in to entertain the royal court. Everything was set up for a successful show. The audience was eager to be entertained at Christianity’s expense, and Porphyrius had put together a special play; he was going to mock the Mystery of Baptism.

The show was a riot, eliciting raucous laughter to be sure. Things seemed to be lining up perfectly. The climax of the action involved a mock-baptism scene with fake clergy dressed in liturgical garb immersing the “catechumen,” Porphyrius, into some water.

He ceremoniously pronounced that he would now be a follower of Jesus Christ, “in the Name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit” before being immersed. But something happened when Porphyrius entered the water. Submerged in that moment, Porphyrius felt the summons of actual grace, a call to serious conversion. Coming out of the water, he announced his decision to all present that he wished to be a Christian and would no longer mock the Living God. But, while he had his metanoia, the emperor was simply annoyed. The Roman Martyrology sums up best what happened next:

“Forthwith, by order of the emperor, he was struck with an axe, and thus crowned with martyrdom.”

​Struck with the extraordinary work of divine grace, he managed to get struck also by the work of human anger. Having given over his heart to Jesus, he gave his head to the emperor. Thus is the story of the great Martyr Porphyrius. Once a jester before secular courts, he was to become a martyr in the heavenly courts.

​As for Julian the Apostate, his hopes for a revival of Roman paganism would not find widespread success. In 363AD, following Julian’s military death, Emperor Jovian took the emperor’s throne and restored the faith of the Roman Empire to Christianity.

​Suppose St. Porphyrius hadn’t slipped into obscurity in modern spirituality. Comedians and performers would have a ready patron, and the whole Church would have a better sense of God’s poetic justice. As it is, let us at least take the lesson to have sincere reverence for the truth and all holy things even when it puts us in rather difficult situations. Don’t forget to invoke his intercession every September 15!

May St. Porphyrius pray for us, and teach us true reverence for the Lord!