The Reluctant Bishop

"To You our morning song of praise, To You our evening prayer we raise; We praise your light in ev'ry age, The glory of our pilgrimage."

The year was 373, and with Milan at peace and the Emperor smiling upon his effective rule, all seemed to be progressing well for dear Ambrose, an intelligent Milanese governor of noble birth. From all appearances, a comfortable political career was almost certain.

 

Then came the death of Bishop Auxentius.

Deep in the midst of the divisive, theological controversy of Arianism, the city now needed to elect a successor skilled enough to unite the divided church and bold enough to set the situation aright.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Governor Ambrose grew concerned about the swelling unrest over the election. Hoping to see a swift resolution to the matter, he decided to attend the meeting. As he offered a few words to calm the masses gathered at the church, a child began to cry “Ambrose, bishop.”

The chant was taken up by the rest of the gathering, and it was soon evident that he had no choice but to accept the position. Eight days later, on December 1, 373, after a hasty baptism and push through the preceding ministerial orders, he was made bishop of Milan.

In the years that followed, Ambrose took his position seriously, placing himself under the teachings of a respected priest and protecting orthodox Christianity with great fierceness. He permitted no one to defile the faith he was charged with defending.

He opposed Arianism, even going so far as to refuse Emperor Justina’s orders to allow Arians the use of a church in Milan. He ensured that Emperor Valentinian did not give into the pleas to restore paganism to Rome. He excommunicated Emperor Theodosius until he showed signs of repentance after he had unjustly killed seven thousand people.

Yet he was not solely focused on theological defenses but also on the pastoral care of his flock. Not long after his consecration, Ambrose melted the gold of a Milanese church to provide the ransom for captive Goths. Later, he advised pastors to focus not on pleasing the rich but on serving the weak and the poor.

Over the course of his career, Ambrose produced a plethora of pastoral and theological works, providing future generations with detailed exegetical commentaries, sermons containing notes on social and political events, and letters in answer to theological and biblical questions.

Unique to this doctor, however, is his strong emphasis on psalms, liturgy, and congregational singing, which he first used as a means of comforting a congregation under siege. He even composed many hymns himself in an effort to communicate such themes as the Trinity and Christian devotion in the course of daily life. The practice of congregational singing and church choirs served to unify the body of believers and, for just a moment, eliminate the distinctions between rich and poor, young and old. Upon his baptism in Ambrose’s church, Augustine reflects on how “all the brethren singing together with great earnestness of voice and heart” moved him to tears and enabled that the “truth was poured forth into [his] heart.”

 

But again we must ask what significance this man holds for us today, and again I wish to propose two thoughts on the matter.

  1)  It would seem that twenty-first century Christians often take church music for granted, little thinking about its rich history. Before Ambrose there had certainly been songs in church, but their distinct and unifying nature had not been so clearly defined. Ambrose’s hymns and use of psalms arose during times of peril and need, and they served to eliminate distinctions within the congregation. After his death, church music would continue to grow and spread, creating a wealthy tradition of Christian song. With this knowledge before us, is not the thought of singing with the ages of believers sweet? How great an opportunity it is to join in worship with the voices that have come before us.

  2)  Secondly, Ambrose zealously defended the faith, even going so far as to excommunicate a Roman emperor in an effort to set him aright. He had played the political game before his time as bishop, and it would have been easy to continue in that role after his consecration. Instead, he chose to stand apart, preferring the integrity of the faith to the advancement of his social reputation. This is an intense test of character. In the face of power and prestige, would I choose to seek the right over following the enticements of my academic, professional, or political superiors? Would you? How great a test it would be to react with the wisdom and moderation of this church father.

"And now to You our  pray'rs ascend, O Father, glorious without end; we plead with Sovereign Grace for pow'r to conquer in temptation's hour."

Born an Old Man

"Exsiccatum est faenum cecidit flos verbum autem Dei nostri stabit in aeternum." Is. 40:8 

"The grass is withered, and the flower is fallen: but the word of our Lord endureth for ever." Is. 40:8

Jerome was the grumpy old man at church. The one who knows what he’s talking about, but everyone rather wishes he didn't.  And Jerome is only the name you use to talk about him behind his back. His real name’s Sophronius Eusebius Hieronymus. That’s Mr. Hieronymus to you.

Born to a wealthy Italian family in AD 342 (or thereabouts), little Jerome is said to have been “born an old man,” assuming himself to be older and more established than his contemporaries. From an early age, Jerome’s great academic potential was recognized, and he soon acquired a taste for classical writers, a love that was to him a guilty pleasure throughout his life.

Following the completion of his education in Rome, Jerome committed to the monastic life, although it wasn't quite as solitary as he initially imagined. The year 374 found him in the desert of Chalcis, where he lived in a hermit’s cell and debated (or quarreled) over theological matters with his fellow hermits. During this time, in an effort to distract himself from the life he’d left behind, Jerome took up the serious study of Greek and Hebrew, knowledge that would aid him in the most significant tasks of his life.

It wasn't long before Jerome returned to Rome, where he served as the private secretary to Bishop Damasus, the man who would later encourage him to start work on his greatest contribution to the church. During his time there, Jerome was a little less than tactful in his interactions with other clerics and scholars, and he gained the disdain of many peers. A few years later, he would even go so far as to  write snobbishly to one of the few men who would surpass him: a young whippersnapper named Augustine. Even so, he did make the effort to establish a monastery and a convent with the help of his close friend Paula.

But what made the life of this chronically old man of lasting worth? His translation of the Scriptures into the common tongue: Latin.

By the fourth century, Latin had come to be the primary language of the Western church, and although there existed several translations of the Bible in the language, none were based on the original Hebrew texts. Jerome’s greatest efforts were, therefore, spent on the translation of the Old Testament, a task that he found frustrating in light of the coarseness of the Hebrew language. In a letter to Paula, he laments that “every elegance of speech, and beauty of Latin expression, the hissing sound of reading Hebrew has sullied.” Even so, he completed his task with impressive accuracy, in light of his solo endeavor. Unlike the Old Testament, his New Testament was not an entirely new translation, but rather a detailed revision of the then current Vetus Latina.

This translation was not immediately well received, however, and it wasn't until after his death that the Latin Vulgate (as it came to be known), would find favor as the standard translation for the Latin-speaking church.

But who cares? Latin’s now a dead language. Jerome himself is dead. Why does his memory and work continue to matter? Let me end by proposing a few possibilities:

1)   On the basest level, he reminds us that the grouchy old man down the pew may be worth a little more respect than we’d like to give him credit for. Jerome’s efforts to learn Greek and Hebrew for the primary purpose of translating the Bible is worthy of admiration and provides an example of the great lengths to which our Christian forerunners have gone in order to provide us with the dusty Bibles on our shelves. In light of this, what effort do we make to understand and treasure the gift that is God's Word? The work's been done for us, all we have left to do is take and read.

2)   Considering it’s one of the most significant translations of Scripture ever made, the Vulgate was initially frowned upon by its recipients, largely because of its newness. And this is no isolated incident. Wycliffe, Tyndale, and even the original King Jamesers faced similar opposition. Although it’s important to be cautious and discerning when it comes to theological and Scriptural matters, we must be careful in our quick rejection of the unfamiliar. After all, is not our ultimate goal the spread of the gospel to the glory of God? Or have we allowed our nitpicky nature and personality preferences to distract and divide us from unity in our God?

"Vivus est enim Dei sermo et efficax et penetrabilior omni gladio ancipiti." Heb. 4:12

"For the word of God is living and effectual and more piercing than any two edged sword." Heb. 4:12

Doctors

Doctors. What’s your first thought? M.D.? Ph.D.? The Doctor?

How's about the Christian church?

Throughout the centuries, Christians have recognized certain individuals as heroes of the faith--men and women who have contributed to the advancement of Christianity in fair and foul weather. Among these, some have stood out as lasting contributors to the understanding of orthodoxy and the theological teachings of Christianity at large. In 1298, Pope Boniface VIII named four such individuals “Doctors of the Church,” people whose teachings and writings are useful to Christians in any era of Church history.

In the next few posts, I will endeavor to briefly explore the key aspects of the lives of the original four Doctors of the Western Church (Augustine, Ambrose, Gregory I, and Jerome) and take a look at the significance of their contributions. Although much could be written about each of these four men, space and format will not allow for great elaboration. Even so, I hope that you might learn a few new tidbits from the musings to come and find a new sort of admiration for these Christian brothers who strove to build and uphold the church long before we were ever thought of.

     "For all your saints, O Lord,
     Who strove in you to live,
     Who followed, obeyed, adored,
     Our grateful hymn receive.

     They all in life and death,
     With you, their Lord, in view,
     Learned from your Holy Spirit's breath
     To suffer and to do."
          Richard Mant

P.S. Please let me know if you note areas where I have misrepresented an individual or conveyed inaccurate information. As always, the goal is accuracy and improvement! Enjoy!

Screwtape Discusses Poetry

My dear Wormwood, 

Your usual ramblings in defense of your actions are growing tiresome, and I will not shield your every mistake from the review of your superiors. Your concerns about his churchgoing and “love” life remain unchanged, and if you’d only return to the instructions I have already deigned to lay before you, you’d find an answer. My concern lies in a passing comment that you seem to believe is insignificant--the patient’s revival of interest in poetry.

Are you blind to the effects of this turn? The serious study of poetry may be the nearest he ever comes to that which the Enemy calls Truth (aside from the words of His own blasphemous book), for poetry is not a mere outpouring of ideas cleverly phrased, as prose so often is (with the help of our more competent tempters), but rather the nearest point to which a writer’s pen touches the soul in a glimpse of divine Truth. For poetry is one of the Enemy’s favorite tools in the adorning of Truth. It teaches while it entertains. It leaves short, lasting impressions that, if left to unfold naturally, could result in irreparable damage. Furthermore, verse is the most perfect showcasing of the logic, wit, and intellect with which He has endowed His creatures, so that even the most base and seemingly wretched of poets cannot help but leave a trace of the Enemy.

No, what you must do is make the patient study a poem not as an intimate piece of writing, but as an abstract form of past art irrelevant to his present time. Let him dig for undiscovered coals in the diamond mine--obscure interpretations that leave him to speculate on fruitless thoughts. Let him compare the piece to his own cultural standards and critique it for its lack of sensitivity and modern propriety. Never let his mind slip to the notion that this couplet could possibly mean anything to him.

Moreover, if he must continue in his love of verse, make him content with the modern poets--Pound, MacLeish, and the like. The best philosophy is that poems “should not mean but be,” for then poetry becomes little more than a lofty appreciation for the tone and word choice of his fellow artist. Keep him locked in his own era that he might not open his eyes to the lineage of humbled souls dating back to the shepherd days of that wretched David. Even so, be wary lest he stumble upon those who have been called the War Poets, for though they seem dark and despairing, they too begin to trifle with the soul and cast the mind to pondering matters of life and death and the human condition. Such things, although valuable to the untrained tempter, quickly lend themselves to themes too close to the Enemy’s eternity and plan. There is one particular poet who seems to be toeing the line between sound atheism and disastrous discovery, speaking of “the clouds of God’s hate” and declaring that “Thou art not Lord while there are Men on earth.” His tempter had best handle him with great care if he wishes to avoid his patient’s awakening to the significance of his own words. Remember, the Enemy takes great pleasure in perverting our efforts in one man to transform the soul of another, if not also his own.

Still, the best method of all is to create an unexplainable disgust for the “intellectual snobbery” and highfalutin nonsense that characterizes all poetry. Allow him to judge all poetry by that one “hard poem” he read back in school and cast the whole lot aside for something more relevant, such as the sports game on the radio or the barking dog next door. Remember, one good sonnet could crumble all of the walls you now strive to build.

                                                                                    Your affectionate uncle

                                                                                    Screwtape