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."